~HUNTER'S POV~
I shouldn’t be watching her. But I am. I shouldn’t be tracking her every move like it matters.
But it does. And that bothers me more than I can admit—especially to myself.
She’s standing near the floral arrangement by the east hallway, her hands busy adjusting a set of wine glasses on a polished tray.
Her hair is tied back in something loose and careless, wisps escaping to brush against her cheek.
She’s wearing a plain dress. One of the spares the staff keeps on hand. Beige, gray, or some color that has no business being worn at an event like this.
It’s wrinkled. A little too big at the waist. But somehow, on her, it works. Maybe because she doesn’t seem to care about any of it.
Or maybe because I care too much.
I lift the whiskey glass to my mouth, but the burn of
