The music in the ballroom flowed like warm honey — soft violins weaving around the hum of laughter and the gentle clinking of crystal glasses.
Chandeliers scattered light like liquid gold, painting every gown and polished shoe in quiet luxury.
But to Julie, standing near the base of the grand staircase, that warmth felt strangely thin — like a fragile curtain stretched over something dark and waiting.
Her hands were clasped before her, the tips of her fingers white from pressure.
Lisa stood a few steps away, radiant in her deep sapphire gown, her poise so graceful that guests drifted instinctively toward her.
Denovan was beside her, tall and composed, his conversation sharp but courteous.
Beside Julie, Azazel and Ava murmured softly to one another, their laughter a welcome distraction — or it would have been, if Julie's mind weren't elsewhere.
It had been an hour.
An entire hour since Roman said he would be back.
