Nera was wrapped in gold. Not just wearing it—ordained in it. A gown stitched from shimmering threads, heavy embroidery coiling like vines, and an elaborate neckline that caught every stray light in the room. On anyone else, it would’ve looked like a desperate parody of a temple relic. On her? Somehow, impossibly, she made it regal. She could drape herself in the gaudiest fabrics alive and still command respect with a tilt of her chin. She carried the extravagance like it was her birthright, as if the world owed her this shine.
Alexandr, in contrast, was restraint personified. Black tuxedo, perfectly tailored, crisp white shirt, his presence sharp as a blade. Only one indulgence—a square of gold silk tucked neatly into his breast pocket, perfectly matching Nera’s gown. Together, they look
