The silence of her apartment pressed in like a second skin.
Rhea closed the door behind her and leaned against it, eyes shut, chest heaving with a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding the entire night. Her dress still hugged her body, the scent of his cologne clinging to her skin. The gala was over, but her mind hadn’t caught up.
She had played her part. Smiled. Walked the carpet on Damian Cole’s arm. Ignored the stares. Ignored the way Naomi’s eyes sliced through her across the ballroom like knives dipped in old history and fresh suspicion.
But the worst part—the part she couldn’t ignore—wasn’t the cameras or the staged charm.
It was the way he looked at her.
Not like she was a colleague. Not like a woman he couldn’t stand.
No, Damian looked at her like she was the only person
