Haylee’s POV
The Logan moment had passed, thankfully. No more fake charm. No more smug smiles. Just clinking glasses, subtle power plays, and conversations layered in business deals disguised as small talk.
Martin and I had slipped back into routine. He greeted people; I followed quietly. Took mental notes and smile when necessary. I was back in assistant mode—no sarcasm, no slip-ups. Just professional and polished, like I was supposed to be.
The venue buzzed with elegance—gold lighting casting everyone in a soft glow, champagne flowing freely, and the distant click of camera shutters echoing off the marble walls. This was his world, not mine. But for tonight, I was walking it in heels that didn’t quite fit and a gown that made me look like I belonged.
Eventually, we drifted toward the
