CHASE
Catherine's townhouse is exactly what I expected. Upper East Side elegance, the kind of wealth that whispers instead of shouts. Marble floors, original artwork, furniture that belonged to someone's grandmother and costs more now than it did new.
The after-party is smaller than advertised. Six people total, all of them variations on Catherine herself: divorced, wealthy, desperate for something to fill the void their marriages left behind.
They drink expensive wine and laugh too loud at jokes that aren't funny.
Catherine finds me on the balcony, champagne flute in hand, Manhattan spread beneath us like a promise.
"You're not enjoying the party." She leans against the railing beside me.
"I'm enjoying the view."
"The city or the company?"
"Both."
She smiles, pleased. The candlelight from inside catches her features, softening the edges time has worn. "Everyone's leaving soon. I told them I was tired."
"Are you?"
