Clara startled, recoiling a step just as Anthony leaned in, dodging his kiss at the last second.
"Mr. Lancaster... I mean, Anthony..." She nervously tucked her hair behind an ear. "When does the banquet start? I should touch up my makeup..."
A wounded look flashed through his eyes, but he simply tousled her hair affectionately. "I'll call the stylist to come here."
As Anthony left to make the call, Clara finally released the breath she'd been holding.
By six o'clock, the grand ballroom buzzed with life.
Transformed by professional styling, Clara stood radiant beside Anthony. The visible hickey on her neck remained uncovered—a deliberate mark he'd left, hoping to stir whispers.
"Anthony, I need to ask something," Clara murmured before entering.
"Since when do we need formalities betw
