The grand ballroom of the Valemont estate was a suffocating spectacle of wealth, lights, and deafening opulence. Chandeliers made of glittering crystal cast a brilliant, unforgiving glare over hundreds of nobles dressed in silks and jewels, all laughing and drinking in celebration of a lie.
Elian stood completely alone in a dim, shadowed corner near the towering velvet drapes, practically invisible to the swirling sea of bodies. His chest felt hollow, a dull, persistent ache settling deep beneath his ribs as he watched Lucien glide across the polished marble floor.
Lucien looked breathtaking and untouchable in his tailored midnight-blue jacket, his arm securely around Rowena. He was showing her off to the high society of the realm with a practiced, effortless grace. Every smile Lucien offered her, every gentle touch to her waist, felt like a physical blow to Elian's already fractured heart.
