Elara POV
I already knew I shouldn’t have come the second I stepped out the cab.
This dress—navy blue, simple, kinda tight around my chest—wasn’t screaming “blend in.” Not when the rest of the crowd glittered like magazine covers. But Rachel insisted. My boss insisted. Everyone acted like this gala was the award winning all trash.
I just wanted to get it over with.
The ballroom was big. Stupid big. Crystal chandeliers that looked like they cost someone’s mortgage, gold-rimmed plates I didn’t even wanna touch. People in suits and dresses that probably had brand names I couldn’t even pronounce.
I kept my head down and clung to my department’s table like it was home base. My heels already hurt. My stomach was turning. I hadn’t told Rachel yet, but my morning sickness decided to come back
