Rain drizzled down the dark windows of Damien’s mansion as the sleek black automobile pulled to a stop in front of the huge double doorways. Inside, the big chandelier sparkled, lightning up the marble ground. The music stuffed the air—soft, fancy and properly-practiced.
Celeste stood at the pinnacle of the steps, her dress clinging to her like armor. She wasn’t here to play pleasantly. She was here to watch, listen, learn. Damien had insisted she attend the gala. “To keep up appearances,” he said. But his eyes had said something else—something unreadable.
She walked down the steps slowly, her heels echoing with each step. Her eyes scanned the gang—polished women in diamonds, men with cold smiles and tighter secrets and techniques.
She spotted Damien near the bar. He seemed dangerous in
