A cleaner rushed over instantly, kneeling with practiced speed to sweep the sparkling shards of glass into a dustpan, murmuring quiet apologies to the surrounding guests. The club didn’t pause for even a beat. The heavy bass thudded on, and laughter from nearby tables spilled over the noise. It was a minor accident, the kind of moment that should have been swallowed whole by the chaotic energy of the night.
But Amelia stood frozen.
Her heart was hammering violently against her ribs, refusing to slow down. She forced herself to take a shallow breath, swallowing hard to clear the tightness in her throat. She needed to move. She needed to prove to herself that she was still standing, still in control.
Slowly, deliberately, she reached for a fresh, clean lowball glass. Her hands tremble
