New Year's Eve.
Elara stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her dress. Red silk. Backless. The kind of dress that demanded attention.
Logan had bought it. Left it on the bed with a note: *Wear this. Make every man in the room jealous. —L*
She'd rolled her eyes. Put it on anyway.
Now she stared at herself. The dress fit perfectly. Hugged every curve. Made her look dangerous.
She looked like Logan's wife.
God, when had that become her identity?
"Jesus Christ." Logan's voice from the doorway.
She turned. He wore a tuxedo. Black on black. His hair styled. The scar on his jaw somehow making him more attractive.
"You clean up nice," she said.
"You're trying to kill me." He crossed to her. Hands on her bare back. "Every man at that gala is going to want you."
"Good thing I'm married
