Lydia. Lydia. Lydia.
Ivan's voice echoed softly as he held her hand, pulling her gently back to reality.
Her body was trembling, her eyes lost. She couldn't breathe right. The room felt heavier than ever. She was no longer dancing. Her heart was pounding too hard.
Her fingers curled slightly, clinging to his hand as if it were the only thing keeping her from falling apart. Every noise in the room faded except the sharp rhythm of her pulse. The golden chandeliers blurred above, spinning slowly. She could feel the sweat gathering at the back of her neck, cold and sharp like a knife.
Ruslan.
He was there. In the crowd. Watching her.
Her stomach turned. Her skin prickled like needles. Even though he'd vanished, she could feel his gaze—like something crawling just beneath her skin. A memory she wanted to bury but couldn't.
Ivan leaned close, concern written all over his face.
"Lydia, are you okay?"
