I walked out first, just like he ordered. Head high. My heels hit the marble, too loud, too steady for how I felt inside.
When I reached the end of the corridor, I turned once, just once. He was still there, framed in the doorway, jacket half-buttoned, watching.
No words. Just that look. Cold. Possessive. Unreadable.
Then he turned back toward the ballroom, and the sound of laughter swallowed him whole.
The party was a distant hum, violins, laughter, crystal, sealed off by a single door. In here, the air smelled of paint and cold glass. My breath still fogged the panel at my back, proof I was alive when inside I felt stripped raw. My dress wasn’t ruined, but it clung wrong, the silk creased high on my hips, lipstick smeared in a careless bruise across my mouth. Every mirror in my head
