FREYA CARTER
The building was lit like a statement.
Glass façade glowing gold from within, banners draped along the entrance displaying sleek logos and looping digital graphics. Cameras flashed intermittently near the steps, journalists and investors filtering through security.
As soon as the car door opened, the noise rushed in — polite applause, distant music, the low hum of wealth gathering in one place.
Rowan stepped out first.
Then he turned and offered his hand.
The moment my fingers touched his, his posture shifted — not colder, not distant — sharper. Focused. Strategic.
“This event is important,” he said quietly before we started up the steps.
I glanced at him. “Important how?”
“It’s not just an exhibition.”
Inside, the space opened into a vast hall of light and sound. M
