Naomi Browne leaned her head against the headrest, a sigh escaping her lips for what felt like the hundredth time. Outside, the world was a blur of expensive cars and manicured lawns, but inside her private car, her world felt utterly still, stuck in the wreckage of a recent heartbreak.

Her chauffeur, Daniel, glanced at her in the rearview mirror, his concern palpable. Naomi offered him a weak, sad smile, a silent assurance that she was 'fine' — a lie she'd become adept at telling. Ever since Connor, her ex-boyfriend, had ended things, her life had been a chaotic mess.

She'd spent two weeks holed up in her apartment, emerging only for work before retreating to her self-imposed exile. Invitations from friends and family went ignored. Connor had been her future, her everything, and his sudden confession of lost chemistry and a new interest had shattered her. The honesty was appreciated, she told herself, but the truth still felt like a physical blow.

Now, her parents, in their well-meaning but utterly misplaced attempt to 'fix' her, had dispatched her to this function in another state. Their eldest, Luis, usually handled such duties, but he was conveniently (or inconveniently for Naomi) on a business trip. So here she was, unwillingly representing the Browne empire, longing for nothing more than the night to be over.

"Ma'am, we are here," Daniel announced, pulling her from her melancholic reverie. She hadn't even noticed they'd arrived. The grand, brightly lit entrance of the venue loomed before them. She just wanted to get through it, get back on her parents' jet tomorrow morning, and disappear back into the quiet solitude of her apartment.