Alina’s POV
Having Ronan in my room felt surreal. It was like reality had shifted, creating a small safe space in the middle of my prison.
He’d moved from the closet to sit beside me on the bed, leaning against the headboard with one arm around my shoulders. Together, we listened to the sounds from the fundraiser filtering up from the floors below. Music, laughter, the buzz of political conversation. This was my father's world, continuing on as if everything was normal while I was up here plotting my escape.
“How long do these things usually last?” Ronan asked quietly.
“Hours. Usually past midnight.” I said, glancing at the clock on my nightstand. It was only nine-thirty, so we had at least two and a half hours before security would start to dwindle.
“Then we wait,” he replied, gently
