The morning of the gala arrived with a storm brewing—not in the skies, but beneath the surface of every move Amelia made. Unaware of the fight ready to break forth in the grand ballroom of the Hawthorne Grand Hotel, the outside city bustles normally.
Amelia stayed still in front of her vanity inside the penthouse. Her hairstylist and makeup artist fluttered over her; a silk robe hung haphazardly on her shoulders. The transformation was almost complete, but the war still raged in her mind.
She would walk into that ballroom tonight a queen—or she would leave it stripped of everything she’d fought for.
There was no in-between.
“Breathe,” Camilla whispered from behind her. “You’ve got the dress, the hair, the plan... now just wear it like armor.”
Amelia nodded slowly.
She would.
She had
