The chandeliers sparkled like captured stars, scattering gold and crystal light across the ballroom. Elena Marlowe had never felt so out of place among the glittering crowd of the elite. The air hummed with conversation and music, but beneath it all pulsed a quiet tension that only she seemed to notice.
Damian Blackwell stood across the room, surrounded by dignitaries and investors. His tailored suit fit him like a second skin, his composure commanding, magnetic. He belonged here—confident, admired, untouchable.
Elena, however, could feel eyes on her. Whispered laughter followed in her wake. She had arrived with Damian’s invitation, but in a room full of pedigrees and titles, she was still the outsider.
A woman in a silver gown approached, her smile sharp as a blade. “You must be the jo
