Tristan looked toward the stairs and held his breath.
Zoriana paused at the top, her fingers brushing the cold marble railing. Her black gown was a masterpiece, looking as though it had been designed specifically for her. The intricate beadwork caught the dim light, shimmering like dragon scales, while the feathered shoulder accents arched upward like the wings of a fallen angel, framing her face in a regal glow.
As she began her slow descent, the daring plunge of the neckline became the focal point. The sheer, beaded fabric dipped dangerously low, highlighting the elegant curve of her throat and the silken expanse of her chest. It offered a breathless view of her cleavage—just enough to reveal the tempting fullness of her breasts, firm and perfectly contoured beneath the structured bodi
