The morning after the gala felt different.
Things weren't really that different. The lake was still calm and peaceful, and the breakfast room was bustling with the same crowd, indulging in the same pricey meals. And then there was Damien, walking into the room with his usual air of confidence, dressed in his signature shirt and dark trousers, phone in hand, coffee by his side. He seemed completely unruffled, like nothing had ever managed to shake him up. The way he carried himself was almost impressive, a testament to his ability to remain composed, no matter what.
It's as if something had changed overnight, in that subtle way that things do after a big moment. You know, like when someone moves a piece of furniture just a little bit, and at first, you don't even notice. But then you walk
