MARION
The ballroom was already buzzing with handshakes, champagne flutes clinking, and polished conversations about mergers and legacies. I’d done my rounds, greeted the investors, clasped shoulders with old family friends, and even entertained my mother’s endless introductions.
But none of it mattered.
Because the second she stepped through those doors, the air shifted.
I was talking to Marcel, with Cyprian and Mikhail standing close to us, when I felt the sudden shift in the room. I told you her scent does it all. Strawberry. From where I stood, almost ten feet away from her, I could still smell her.
Demetria.
Wildfire.
She moved with a quiet confidence, her black gown flowing like smoke around her legs, heels striking a rhythm that made heads turn, but none of them the way mine
