The ballroom glittered like a beautifully told lie.
Crystal chandeliers spilled fractured gold across polished marble floors. The music was soft enough to be elegant, loud enough to hide whispered scandals. Waiters drifted through the room with silver trays and expensive smiles. Men in tailored suits laughed too loudly. Women in silk gowns smiled too sweetly.
Power wore perfume tonight.
Money wore diamonds.
And everyone wore masks.
Emma Laurent wore black.
The silk clung to her body like sin and strategy.
The dress Rowan had sent fit like it had been made for her—smooth black silk hugging every curve before falling in a sharp slit that revealed long, elegant legs with every step. The back dipped dangerously low, leaving smooth skin bare beneath the chandelier light.
Diamonds kissed
