I watched him. Kyrie was holding court near the fireplace, a glass of vintage red wine in one hand, gesturing expansively with the other. He looked magnificent, I couldn’t deny that. He radiated success. But as I watched him laugh at a joke made by a potential investor, a sharp pain pierced my chest.

He hadn’t introduced me to a single person all night.

I moved through the crowd, offering drinks. When I reached Kyrie, I held the tray out, my arm trembling slightly.

“Water, honey?” I whispered.

He didn’t even turn his head. He just waved a hand dismissively in my direction, continuing his conversation. To him, and to everyone else in this room, I was just part of the help.