The orchestra swelled, the haunting notes of a cello filling the Grand Hôtel-Dieu’s ballroom.
Lucian’s hand was a heavy, branding iron of heat on the bare skin of Elara’s lower back. He moved with a terrifying, liquid grace that shouldn't have been possible for a man of his immense size. He didn't just lead the waltz; he dictated it. Every step, every pivot was a calculated maneuver to keep Elara’s back to his chest, shielding her from the balcony while giving him a full, unobstructed view of the room.
"He's moving," Elara murmured, her lips brushing the smooth fabric of Lucian’s tuxedo lapel. Her eyes were fixed on the polished buttons of his shirt, but her mind was mapping the room.
She wasn't looking at the gala like a socialite anymore. She was looking at it like a security archit
