The laughter died so suddenly that Claire Bennett could hear the ice settling in the champagne glasses.

Only seconds earlier, three women near the fireplace had been laughing loud enough for half the room to hear.

“Send Claire,” one of them had said. “Seriously. Send the ugly one. He’ll reject her in thirty seconds.”

Another woman had covered her mouth, pretending to be shocked.

“Thirty? You’re generous.”

Their laughter had followed Claire across the marble floor of the Whitmore estate like something thrown at her back. She had known people could be cruel. She just hadn’t known they could be so casual about it. Now, standing beneath a crystal chandelier in a borrowed navy dress, Claire wished the floor would open and swallow her before the man everyone had been talking about entered the room.

She tightened her fingers around the folder pressed against her chest. Inside were proposals for three neighborhood reading programs, a list of repairs needed at the Eastwood Community Library, and handwritten notes from children who attended Claire’s free Saturday tutoring sessions. That was why she had come. Not to meet a millionaire. Not to be evaluated like an item on a shelf. Certainly not to become someone’s entertainment.

Claire had been told this was a charity planning dinner. Apparently, not everyone had been told the same thing.

Across the room, Madison Hale caught her eye and smiled with the thin satisfaction of someone who enjoyed knowing she had drawn blood without touching a person. Claire looked away. She had spent most of her thirty-one years becoming skilled at that. Looking away. Ignoring whispers. Pretending not to notice when strangers glanced at the pale scar running from the edge of her left cheek toward her jaw. Pretending she had not heard classmates call her stitched-face when she was twelve. Pretending it didn’t matter that at twenty-six, a man she had dated for four months admitted he liked her personality but didn’t want her in photographs with his friends.

Claire had built a life around refusing to let cruelty become the loudest voice in her head. Most days, she succeeded. Tonight was becoming difficult.

She took a slow breath and moved toward the entry hall. If she left now, she could catch the 8:10 bus back to Brookhaven. She had almost reached the coatroom when a woman in her late sixties stepped in front of her.

“Claire.”

Margaret Whitmore’s face tightened with concern. Claire forced a smile.

“Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Whitmore. I think I should go.”

Margaret lowered her voice. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Claire.”

That one word carried enough kindness to nearly undo her. Claire swallowed. “Some of your guests misunderstood why I was here.”

Margaret glanced toward the fireplace. She saw Madison. Understanding arrived immediately. “Oh, no.”

“It’s fine.”

“It is not fine.”

“Please.” Claire touched Margaret’s wrist. “Don’t turn it into a scene. I came because you said the foundation might support the library. That was generous. But I think I’ve done what I can tonight.”

Margaret looked furious. Claire was about to step around her when the double doors opened. Conversation changed instantly. Not stopped. Changed. People straightened. Smiles appeared. Shoulders shifted.

A man entered wearing a charcoal suit with no tie, followed by an older gentleman carrying a leather portfolio. Claire recognized him because almost everyone in western Pennsylvania would have recognized him. Ethan Whitmore. Thirty-nine years old. Founder of Whitmore Data Systems. Owner of three commercial buildings in Pittsburgh, a software company with offices in six states, and enough money to make newspapers interested whenever he purchased a house.

Claire had seen photographs of him. They never captured how tired he looked. That was her first thought. Not handsome. Not wealthy. Tired.

The room seemed to pull toward him. Ethan ignored most of it. He greeted Margaret with a kiss on the cheek, exchanged several words with a businessman near the entrance, and then looked across the room. His gaze landed on Claire.

She knew immediately why. Everyone else was looking at her too. Madison’s smile returned. Claire understood the joke now. Margaret had apparently intended to introduce Claire to Ethan. Madison and her friends had decided the contrast would be hilarious. The elegant millionaire and the scarred librarian in the discount-store dress.

Claire lowered her eyes. She wanted to leave before anyone could complete the humiliation. But Ethan walked directly toward her. The room grew quieter with each step. Claire stared at the polished floor. She told herself she did not care what he thought. She told herself she had survived worse. She told herself she was thirty-one years old and should not feel like a bullied seventh grader again.