I rose from between Charlotte and Madison—slow, deliberate, letting the midnight wool of my suit settle over shoulders that had carried far heavier weights than this room could comprehend.
Adjusted the cuffs once.
Walked to the stage like I owned every square inch of carpet beneath my shoes.
Aurelia Royce was already waiting—poised like a black widow who'd just decided the fly was interesting enough to fuck before eating.
That black velvet gown clung to her like it had been woven from the shadows of dead stars, hugging every lethal curve, every deliberate swell, every line of muscle and promise.
Up close those ice-blue eyes weren't just cold—they were cryogenic. Capable of flash-freezing desire in mid-throb, turning lust into something brittle and beautiful and doomed to shatter under the slightest pressure.
