The night was painted in shades of silver and red. The ballroom lights shimmered like candlefire, their reflections spilling across Elena’s bare shoulders as she stood at the edge of the crowd, trying not to notice the hollow ache that had followed her for days.
Damian had vanished again.
No calls. No messages. Just silence and the ghost of his voice in her memory — the deep, composed timbre that once made her feel safe, now echoing like a warning.
Elena’s breath caught when she saw him.
He moved through the entrance like a shadow stepping into light — tall, confident, every inch of him composed in that dark suit that fit like sin itself. But his eyes… they burned. A fire that met hers from across the room, scorching the space between them.
“Damian,” she whispered, though he was still
