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The Dance
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2025-10-01 09:08:06Amara’s POV
The ballroom shimmered like it had been dipped in stars. Chandeliers dripped gold light onto polished marble, and the air buzzed with laughter, clinking glasses, and the rustle of silk gowns. I tugged at the edge of mine—a borrowed midnight-blue number that fit well enough but felt too plain beside the glittering sea of couture.Charity balls weren’t made for people like me. They were stages, and I didn’t know my lines.I lingered near the edge of the dance floor, clutching a half-empty flute of sparkling water, praying the crowd would forget I existed. But prayers never worked when Damian Cruz was in the room.He moved like he owned the place—dark suit sharp, tie loosened just enough to look effortless. His presence drew people like moths to flame, their laughter brightening when he joined the circle, their smiles stretching wider.And then his eyes found me.Heat skittered through me. I looked away quickly, but it w
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