The charity auction hall pulsed with the low hum of privilege, a cavernous space within the city's most exclusive hotel where crystal chandeliers dripped light like molten gold onto polished mahogany floors. Elara had only ever seen such opulence in movies—women in couture gowns gliding like swans, men in bespoke tuxedos murmuring deals that could topple empires. Now, she was one of them, or at least dressed as one, her arm looped through Julian's as they descended the grand marble staircase. The gown he'd selected for her—a midnight-blue sheath of silk that clung to her like a whispered threat—felt like a costume, every step a performance under his watchful gaze.
"Smile," Julian murmured, his voice a velvet command against her ear as they reached the floor. His hand rested possessively a
