Ruby’s POV
The atmosphere inside the Fifth Avenue art gallery was choked with the scent of expensive champagne, heavy lilies, and the suffocating pretense of Manhattan’s elite.
The gallery itself was a monument to old money structural design—soaring twenty-foot ceilings, polished white concrete floors that reflected the low, moody lighting, and towering glass panels looking out over a rainy Manhattan skyline. Hundreds of New York’s top collectors, investors, and high-society bloggers drifted through the space, their diamonds catching the sharp track lighting above.
Alexander and I stood near the center sculpture, the absolute epitome of a united front. He looked breathtakingly sharp in a bespoke black Tom Ford tuxedo that contrasted vividly with his striking blue eyes and perfectly
