Her future.
The legal battle had lasted two years.
By the end, Naomi had walked away with nothing.
Almost nothing.
She had kept one thing.
The original research notebook.
The world had forgotten Naomi Brooks.
She had allowed it to.
Because rebuilding a life was easier when nobody knew who you were.
She closed the box.
Her phone rang.
It was her younger brother, Marcus.
"Hey," Naomi answered.
"You sound tired."
"I'm fine."
"You always say that."
She smiled.
"How's Mom?"
"Sleeping."
"Did she take her medicine?"
"Yes."
Naomi closed her eyes.
Her mother had been ill for years. Naomi worked two jobs to cover the bills.
Marcus worked construction when he could.
Neither of them had money to waste.
"Naomi?"
"Yeah?"
"You don't have to keep doing everything alone."
She looked toward the wooden box.
"I know."
But she didn't believe it.
Not yet.
The next morning, an envelope waited inside Naomi's locker.
It was cream-colored.
Heavy.
Expensive.
Her name was printed across the front in elegant black letters.
Ms. Naomi Brooks
She opened it.
Inside was an invitation.
The Carrington Foundation Annual Gala.
Dress: Formal.
Transportation: Provided.
She read it twice.
At the bottom was Evan Carrington's signature.
Naomi stared at it.
Then she laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because she finally understood.
He wanted to humiliate her.
He wanted to put a poor cleaner in a room full of wealthy people and watch her feel small.
Naomi folded the invitation carefully.
For a moment, she considered throwing it away.
Then something changed in her expression.
She placed it inside her purse.
"All right," she whispered.
"If that's the game you want to play..."
She smiled.
"...I'll come."
The Dress
The limousine arrived at Naomi's apartment at six thirty on Saturday evening.
Neighbors gathered outside.
Some stared.
One woman actually came out onto the sidewalk to ask whether Naomi was moving.
Naomi stepped outside wearing a simple black dress.
It wasn't expensive.
It didn't need to be.
The limousine driver opened the door.
"Ms. Brooks?"
"Yes."
He smiled.
"Mr. Carrington asked me to make sure you arrive comfortably."
Naomi almost laughed.
Comfortably.
That was one word for it.
She climbed inside.
The interior smelled like leather and polished wood.
A bottle of champagne rested in a silver bucket.
She didn't touch it.
Instead, she watched the city pass through the tinted windows.
Twenty minutes later, the limousine stopped in front of an exclusive fashion house.
A stylist greeted her.
"Ms. Brooks, we've been expecting you."
Naomi frowned.
"Why?"
"Mr. Carrington arranged everything."
Of course he had.
For the next two hours, Naomi was dressed, styled, and photographed.
The stylist chose a midnight-blue gown.
It was elegant without being excessive.
Naomi looked at herself in the mirror.
For a moment, she barely recognized the woman staring back.
But beneath the makeup and silk, she was still Naomi.
The stylist smiled.
"You look incredible."
"Thank you."
"You must be very excited."
Naomi looked at her.
"Why?"
"For the gala."
Naomi paused.
"Yes."
She didn't tell the woman what the gala really was.
A joke.
A performance.
A public experiment in humiliation.
At eight thirty, the limousine delivered her to the Carrington estate.
The mansion stood behind iron gates.
Dozens of photographers crowded the entrance.
Guests arrived in luxury cars.
Diamonds flashed.
Men in tailored tuxedos laughed beside women wearing gowns worth more than Naomi's apartment building.
Then Naomi stepped out.
The cameras turned.
For three seconds, everything stopped.
She heard whispers.
"Who is she?"
"Is she a new investor?"
"Maybe she's an actress."
"She looks familiar."
Naomi walked through the entrance.
She didn't look down.
Inside, a string quartet played beneath a massive crystal chandelier.
Evan Carrington stood near the staircase.
He was thirty-eight, handsome, confident, and surrounded by people who wanted something from him.
When he saw Naomi, his smile froze.
He had expected embarrassment.
He had expected a nervous woman hiding behind waiters.
Instead, Naomi walked toward him calmly.
"Evan."
His eyebrows rose.
"Naomi."
"Thank you for the invitation."
He looked her over.
"You're welcome."
One of his friends approached.
"Is this..."
Evan smiled.
"Yes."
The friend laughed.
Naomi looked at him.
"Is something funny?"
The man stopped.
"No."
"Good."
Evan's smile disappeared for half a second.
Then he raised his glass.
"Enjoy the evening."
"I intend to."
Naomi walked away.
Evan watched her.
Something about the evening had already gone wrong.
He just didn't know how badly.
The Joke Begins
The first hour passed quietly.
Naomi spoke with no one unless someone spoke to her first.
She observed.
That was one of her oldest habits.