I’ve never felt this out of place in my life.
The event was everything I expected and nothing I was prepared for.
A ballroom in a hotel so high the city looked like a carpet of stars. Crystal chandeliers. Champagne flutes. Men in tuxedos and women in dresses that cost more than my old apartment. The air smelled like money and power and secrets.
Damian kept his hand on the small of my back as we walked in. It was possessive, proprietary. I felt every pair of eyes on us on him, the famous Damian Cross, and on the woman beside him who clearly didn't belong.
"Smile," he murmured, his lips near my ear. "You're not on stage anymore, but you're still being watched."
I wanted to snap at him, but I forced a smile. It felt like the fake one I used to wear at the club, only heavier.
A man appr
