The flashbulbs still burned behind her eyes long after the gala ended, lingering like tiny embers that refused to fade.
Back at the penthouse, Sebastian had dismissed her without ceremony, already half-drunk, already texting Isabelle. His laughter had rung hollow in her ears, the scent of expensive cologne masking the stench of his entitlement. He hadn't even bothered to strip her of the emeralds he had forced onto her neck. She stood in the dressing room, staring at her reflection, the stones glittering like chains across her collarbones.
Her cheek still throbbed from Isabelle's slap.
Her chest still ached from Sebastian's possessive grip on her waist.
Her blood still boiled from his whisper: You'll regret whatever game you think you're playing.
And beneath it all, a deeper, darker pulse: Lorenzo's eyes in the crowd, burning through her like a promise.
