**“You're not smiling," Adrian observed.**
Ivy adjusted her silver silk dress in the reflection of the limo's tinted glass. “Maybe because I'm not a fan of attending fundraisers as my captor's trophy."
“You're here as my wife."
“Wife implies choice."
The car rolled to a stop in front of the grand hotel. Paparazzi swarmed like bees. Flashes exploded the moment Adrian stepped out and offered his hand.
Ivy hesitated. Then took it—not for him, but to maintain the illusion. His palm was cold. His grip careful.
Inside, champagne glasses clinked. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen rain. The city's elite mingled under golden lights.
“You look stunning," Adrian murmured at her side.
“Don't flatter your own taste," she replied. “You picked the dress."
A camera clicked. Adrian instinctivel
