Sylvia's POV
John's expression darkened as Selene's words hung in the air.
"Ms. Frost," he said sharply, his British accent suddenly razor-edged, "care to explain what exactly is going on here?"
His voice rose a notch, enough to turn more heads.
"I flew across the Atlantic at your invitation," he continued, tone clipped. "I came here under the impression this was a serious business proposal, not some circus sideshow. Accusations in the middle of a gala? This is your idea of professionalism?"
The crowd shifted like a school of fish sensing blood.
Whispers buzzed. Eyes darted. Nobody wanted to be caught staring, but they were all watching.
I met his gaze head-on, spine straight, expression calm—too calm, probably.
"My apologies, Mr. Sinclair. You're right to be upse
