The moment the end credits began to roll across the massive theater screen, the audience erupted into a deafening, echoing standing ovation.
Aria stood up from her plush velvet seat, flashing a brilliant, perfectly poised smile for the cameras stationed around the aisles. The applause washed over her, warm and validating. She had done it. She had watched her own face on a fifty-foot screen, delivering a performance that completely wiped away the stigma of her past. She wasn't just a pretty face or a billionaire's accessory; she was actually good at her job.
But as the house lights flickered fully on and the networking frenzy began to brew in the aisles, Aria felt her social battery instantly drop to zero.
She leaned into Damien's side, keeping her smile pinned in place. "I want to go home."
Damien didn't hesitate. He placed a hand on her lower back and navigated her through the swarming crowd, seamlessly dodging two producers and a very persistent lifestyle blogger.
