KILLIAN CROSS POVA collective gasp rippled through the ballroom, the sound cutting through the expensive, climate-controlled air like a physical blade.From my vantage point at the VIP table, I leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. I kept my expression entirely unreadable, but inside, a dark, satisfying rush of anticipation was taking root.Look at her.Freya stood at that podium like she owned the entire room. The emerald green silk of her dress practically glowed under the harsh stage lights, and the Cross family diamonds on her neck caught every fracture of light. When I first brought her into my house, she looked like a woman who had been dragged through the dirt—exhausted, broken, and running on pure survival instinct. I had initially doubted my own judgment. I’m a man who deals in absolute certainties, and betting my son’s fragile stability on a penniless, disgraced architect had felt like a massive corporate gamble.But watching her now? She wasn't a gamble. She was a f
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