CHAPTER 7: Victor Ashford Enters Without Applause

The tall doors at the far end of the ballroom opened five minutes later.
No announcement was made. No music swelled. Victor Ashford did not need a room prepared for him. Rooms had a way of preparing themselves when he arrived.
He stepped in wearing a black evening coat, silver hair brushed back from a face made severe by restraint rather than age. Two security directors followed him, along with a woman carrying a leather folder against her chest.
Every guest who had pretended not to know him suddenly remembered exactly where they had seen his photograph.
Victor's eyes found Maren first, then Clara, then the stained dress.
Something in his expression went still.
He crossed the ballroom without greeting the donors who rose halfway from their seats. When he reached Clara, he took a white handkerchief from his pocket and knelt despite the thousand-dollar trousers and the polished floor.
'Hello, little star,' he said. 'I am sorry I was not here when the room forgot itself.'
Clara reached for him with one trembling hand.