The gala wasn’t just an event—it was a spectacle. From the moment the sleek black car stopped in front of the venue, Malia’s lungs refused to work properly. Cameras flared like wildfire, each flash so sharp it felt like the world was made of broken glass. The air vibrated with voices—paparazzi shouting, reporters pressing forward, fans screaming as though Kieth was some untouchable deity.
He didn’t move at first. He sat in the car with that unnerving calm of his, his profile lit by the pulsing strobes outside. His gaze flicked once toward her, a silent command.
Malia swallowed hard. This is it. My first test. Sink or swim.
She stepped out of the car first, her hand pressed to the side of her gown as though anchoring herself. Instantly, the noise doubled. She wasn’t anyone, not really—no
