The silence inside the mahogany-lined interior of Christian’s vehicle was a stark contrast to the absolute chaos of the gala they had just fled. Casel leaned her head back against the cool leather seat, closing her eyes as the city lights of Lagos blurred into streaks of gold and amber against the window. Her heart was still hammering against her ribs, a violent, erratic rhythm born from humiliation and sheer exhaustion.
Zeth’s mother had made sure everyone in high society heard her passive-aggressive remarks regarding Casel's lack of aristocratic pedigree. It was a familiar routine, one Casel had endured for years in silence. But tonight had been different. Tonight, before the tears could even sting the backs of her eyes, Christian had stepped into the circle. He hadn't raised his voice.
