The chandelier glittered above like a thousand captured stars, music swirled through the grand ballroom, and laughter echoed around walls built for power. But beneath the shimmer of champagne glasses and designer gowns, danger pulsed like an invisible heartbeat.
I tugged uncomfortably at the silk gown Clara had forced me into. "Why am I even here?" I whispered.
Luca, immaculate in a tailored black suit, adjusted his cufflinks without looking at me. "Because appearances matter."
"To who?"
"To everyone watching," he said, eyes scanning the crowd. "They need to see you at my side."
"I'm not a prop."
"No," he said finally, gaze cutting to me, sharp and soft all at once. "You're my shield. My anchor. The reason they think twice before crossing me."
I huffed, crossing my arms. "That sounds worse than being a prop."
A small smile tugged at his lips. "You make even that sound dangerous."
