The Heritage Gala was the epitome of elite extravagance: a gilded ceiling, towering champagne flutes, and the room filled with influential people. I was not interested in the glittering chandeliers and murmured political talk. All I could focus on was the presence just six feet away, a quiet intensity radiating from behind.Cassian was standing by the marble column, sharply dressed in a black tuxedo that made him look so composed. Since we had that moment in my dressing room, since his rough hand had pressed mine over the rapid thud of his heart, the space between us had cracked with unspoken tension. Each step I made, each sip I took, I felt his grey eyes watching me.At around 10:00 PM, Donald, a wealthy, persistently aggressive acquaintance of my husband, pinned me near the grand staircase.“Seraphina, my dear,” Donald said, his gaze fixed a little too long on the plunging back of my emerald silk dress. He moved in too close, and I could smell the strong drink on his breath. “Arthu
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