The Price Of Her Mercy
MIRA
The crystal chandeliers above us scatter light across the ballroom like a thousand tiny stars, and I can feel every eye in this place tracking our movement.
Jackson's hand rests on the small of my back, warm and possessive through the silk of my burgundy gown, and I straighten my spine because this is what we do. We perform. We shine. We make everyone else feel like they're standing in our shadow.
"Mrs. Meliś, would you mind?" A man in an expensive but ill-fitting tuxedo thrusts his phone at me, his smile too eager, too hungry. "Just one photo?"
Bab Populer