Armani’s POV
I should feel victorious. Triumphant, even.
Instead, I find myself staring at her, searching for something in her expression that I can’t quite place. There’s no hint of satisfaction, no relief washing over her features like I expected. Just a quiet sort of weight settling in her shoulders, her fingers barely flexing against the stem of her untouched glass.
She won. She’s going to save her father. That must be why her eyes look so heavy—overwhelmed by relief, nothing more.
I motion to the waiter. “Champagne.”
A crisp pop echoes through the air, breaking the silence between us as the cork is freed from an expensive bottle. The golden liquid cascades into delicate flutes, the bubbles rising like tiny bursts of celebration, their soft fizz filling the space between us.
I li
