Ghosts of the Past
The moment she stepped into the ballroom, the air changed.
It was subtle—like the shift in the atmosphere before a storm, a quiet tension that prickled against my skin, sending an eerie shiver down my spine. Conversations slowed, laughter faded into hushed murmurs, and in that instant, the grand chandelier above seemed to cast a colder, sharper light over the room.
I wasn’t the only one who noticed.
Eyes turned toward her, some filled with curiosity, others with recognition, but none were as intense as the gaze burning from Adrian Sinclair.
I had never seen him like this.
His usual mask of cold detachment, the perfectly composed demeanor that he carried like a second skin, was gone. In its place was something raw and volatile—a storm barely held at bay. His entire
