The elevator descended in a silent, gut-wrenching plunge. Elara’s hand rested on Julian’s arm, her fingers stiff and unyielding against the fine wool of his tuxedo. He felt like carved stone beneath her touch. The mirrored walls of the car reflected their image back at her—a devastatingly handsome billionaire and his beautiful, hollow-eyed companion. A perfect, poisonous tableau.
He didn’t look at her. His gaze was fixed ahead, his profile impassive. “The press will be there,” he said, his voice low enough that it didn’t carry to the discreet attendant operating the elevator. “They will have questions. You will say nothing.”
“What would I say?” she whispered, the words tasting bitter. “That I’m here under duress?”
“You will smile,” he instructed, as if she were a recalcitrant pupil. “Yo
