~Earlier on~
Walking in, the auction hall glittered like a jeweled snare, all champagne smiles and careful conversations. Every inch of the place smelled of old money and older secrets. I belonged here about as much as I belonged on the moon—but tonight, I wasn't Mira Valente, the baker from Lisbon. I was the delectable Maya Avanti.
Tonight, I was someone untouchable.
Shopping for some fancy dresses when I arrived in LA kfew weeks ago gave me so many dress options to pick from when the invite came days ago.
After trying on a number of smoking hot attires, I settled a deep emerald dress that dipped low in the back, the kind of color that made men stare and women wonder if they could pull it off. The slight show of my cleavage was the icing on top.
My brown bob hair rested beautifully on my shoulders, and my lips were painted the kind of red you only wore when you had something to prove.
