The grand ballroom of the Grand Sovereign Hotel felt less like a sanctuary of high fashion and more like an arena where predators circled in expensive velvet. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the marble floors, but to Lalaine, every shadow seemed to stretch with dangerous intent.
She stood at Wilrhic’s right side, her small hand resting gently on his massive forearm. Even through the tailored cloth of his suit jacket, she could feel the rigid, unyielding power of the muscles beneath. Across the expanse of polished stone, near the towering archways leading out to the sea terrace, Lady Morga Del Torre and her nephew Marcus remained frozen.
"Look at her,"
Marcus hissed under his breath, his voice barely audible over the swelling melody of the string quartet, though to Lyc
