Layla's pov
The ballroom glowed beneath cascading chandeliers, their golden light dancing across mirrored walls and soft velvet drapes in hues of deep plum and champagne. Laughter mingled with the clinking of crystal glasses. A live quartet played a slow, elegant melody, one that soothed the buzz of nerves crackling just beneath my skin.
I stood beside Damian, our hands barely brushing—a calculated pose we’d rehearsed a hundred times. The photographer, crouched before us, barked gentle directions.
“Closer. Smile, but not too much. Look natural.”
Click. Flash. Click.
“You did it, Layla,” Damian whispered against my ear, his voice like velvet and steel.
I turned, my lashes fluttering. "No. We did it."
His smile deepened, a rare softness crossing his features. “Damn right we did.”
Th
