DAMIEN’S POV
We walked into the vast hall decorated with tapestries of the world, showcasing orphanages, war victims, and homeless shelters.
Immediately, a slew of cameramen and reporters blinded us with their flashes at the entrance. I put my hand on the small of Aria’s back and led her further down the museum, where the main party was held.
The wealthy of America stood in droves, chatting and holding glasses of champagne. A buffet table was pushed to one side, heaped with various types of French desserts.
As soon as we entered, my mother spotted us. She whispered something to my father, and they both sauntered over to us.
I didn’t bother hiding my annoyance.
“Damien, you made it,” my mother said, her eyes falling over Aria.
“And you brought a gift.”
Her gaze lingered on Aria for
