The grand feast hall glittered under crystal chandeliers, the air filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and soft music. Survivors of the Wild Cat Feast moved through the room in their finest gowns and suits, trying to pretend the blood on the courtyard stones had never existed. But the tension beneath the glamour was unmistakable.
Armani stood at the edge of the room, drink in hand, his eyes never leaving Riley.
She was laughing.
Actually laughing — head tilted back, eyes bright, talking animatedly with a small group of girls. The sound of her laughter cut through the noise like a knife. It was light, genuine, free.
She never laughs like that with me, Armani thought, his jaw tightening. He scoffed quietly, taking a slow sip of his drink to mask the unfamiliar sting in his chest.
The
