He Hated Me First
Across the hall, near the arched entrance where torchlight flickered against ancient stone, Zara made her entrance.
She wore silver, of course she did. A gown that poured over her curves like molten moonlight, cut low enough to be daring, high enough to avoid scandal. Her dark hair had been woven with crystals that caught the lantern light with every movement, creating the illusion of stars tangled in midnight silk. She looked like something out of a legend, beautiful and untouchable and perfectly aware of the effect she created.
Her eyes swept the crowd with practiced ease, acknowledging admirers with slight smiles, until her gaze finally found mine across the distance.
Bab Populer