Page 129 of The Art of Ruin

A frightened investor there.

A whisper in the right ear.

A contract that vanishes overnight.

One weak point touched with enough pressure that the entire structure eventually collapses under its own weight.

Art, really.

And I’ve always appreciated patience.

20.Casey

I spendforty minutes regretting letting Izzy talk me into this dress.

It’s beautiful.

That’s the problem.

It’s too beautiful.

The dark green silk fits too well, skimming over curves I usually hide beneath oversized sweaters and clothes chosen more for practicality than attention. Looking at myself like this feels strangely unfamiliar, like I’m seeing a version of myself I haven’t let exist properly in a long time. I feel exposed, but beneath that uneasy feeling is one of wonder. I look good. Which feels deeply unnecessary for a charity gala.

“You look beautiful,” Elena announces from where she’s curling my bestie’s hair at the vanity in Isabella’s room. We’d decided to get ready together like old times and it’s been fun.

I smile at her reflection. “You’re a little biased.”

“I’m truthful.”

“She’s right,” Isabella says as she fastens an earring. “It’s actually offensive how good you look.”

I look at them both suspiciously. “You’re blowing smoke up my ass so I don’t bail at the last minute.”

“We’re absolutely not blowing smoke anywhere. You’re stunning and the sooner you see that, the better. Adi is going to lose his mind when he sees you in that dress.” Isabella winks.

“Izzy, will you stop. Adriano is my boss.”

“Oh, please, anyone with eyes can see he likes you. That man follows you with his eyes like he’s starving and you’re a juicy steak.”

“Isabella, Casey is not food. Don’t be so vulgar,” Elena admonishes.

I wrap an arm around Elena and glare at Izzy. “Listen to your mother.”

Elena pats my hand and then the traitor turns on me. “Bella is right, though. That dress will test his restraint tonight.”

“Traitors.”

I sigh and glance back toward the full-length mirror, fingers smoothing over the fabric at my waist. The dress falls cleanly to the floor; the deep green makes my skin look warmer than it usually does, my hair softer where Elena insisted on curling it earlier despite my objections.

I barely recognize myself.

Not in a bad way, just… unfamiliar. The last time I dressed up like this, I was a different person with a different life. I’m not sure I belong in this world.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Isabella says.

“What thing?”

“Thinking yourself out of enjoying something.”