brielle's "fiancé-to-be," a slick venture capitalist from another te

, his smile all teeth.

abrielle truly belonged. She was across the room, a goddess in a couture gown, commanding

her. She's a queen. You? You're a fun little bohemian experien

clenched

her worlds separate. Her real contacts-the VCs, the billionaires

urity was a roaring fire. I found the contacts. Under a group labeled "NYC Friends," there was my name: "Ethan L - Art." Filed away with a ba

conversation. She was talking abou

" she said, laughing. "Head of the ma

uture together. But all I heard was condescension. All I heard was Anthony's

her I couldn't be her pet artist, her

et this, Ethan," she

. And for three year