The cold night air hit my face the second Zian carried me out of the ballroom.
I inhaled sharply.
My lungs still hurt from the panic attack, but at least out here the air didn’t feel suffocating anymore and I felt a bit relieved.
The enormous glass doors now behind us kept opening and closing as guests whispered openly while staring at us.
I could hear them talk.
“That’s Dawson Cage’s little wife.”
Little?
I couldn’t believe my ears.
“She left with another man?”
“Isn’t that Zian?”
“Oh God…”
The gossip followed us down the marble stairs like smoke and my face burned with humiliation all over again.
I shifted awkwardly in Zian’s arms.
“Put me down,” I whispered weakly.
But Zian didn’t stop walking. “No.” he said.
I frowned at him. “I’m serious.”
“You’re barely breathing
