The chandelier above seemed to sway with the weight of the silence. It wasn’t, of course—its golden branches remained steady, crystal droplets catching the light—but to Liam Hawthorne, the room felt tilted, off-balance, as though the air itself had fractured.
Cassian Rhys stood at the edge of the ballroom, every inch of him dressed in a confidence that didn’t belong to youth. His shoulders were squared, his jaw sharp, his smile carefully honed. The room full of billionaires, diplomats, and hidden predators reacted like bloodhounds catching a fresh scent—some stiffened, some leaned forward, and all of them turned their gaze away from Liam.
The shift was subtle but unmistakable. For years, Liam had been the center of every room he entered. Tonight, that center of gravity threatened to move
