The Metropolitan Museum of Art had been transformed into something obscene.Ten thousand white roses climbed the pillars of the Great Hall. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling on invisible wires, throwing fractured light across seven hundred guests in black tie, all of them holding champagne and pretending they weren’t looking at each other. A twelve-piece orchestra played something restrained and expensive near the fountain. The air smelled like perfume, money, and the particular kind of tension that happens when too many powerful people are crammed into one room.Damien Cross stood near the north wall with a glass of scotch he hadn’t touched, wondering why he’d agreed to come.He hated these things. The noise, the performance, the way everyone wanted something from him, and dressed it up as conversation. He’d attended because his mother had insisted. Elena Cross didn’t insist often, but when she did, it carried the weight of a woman who’d buried a husband, run an empire, and r
Zuletzt aktualisiert : 2026-04-15 Mehr lesen