Reid
The gala’s atmosphere was a carefully orchestrated dream: the lights dimmed to a sultry glow, the soft murmur of elegant conversations mixing with the gentle strains of a live band. I had spent the last few minutes in the reception area, scanning the room with the practiced detachment of a man who rarely lets anything get past him. Fallon had gone to the bathroom and I was waiting for her.
Then I saw her—Fallon, gliding through the crowd like she owned the floor. Her gown shimmered in deep red, and every step she took seemed to echo a silent challenge. My breath caught, and for a moment I wondered if I should have just remained distant, safe behind spreadsheets and board meetings. But tonight, the night was already too charged to be ignored.
I found my way toward the dance floor.
