Stolen By His Rival
I forced a polite smile.
“Well,” Chris said, already distracted again, “we should circulate.”
“Yes,” I agreed, my voice steadier than I felt.
As Chris guided me away, I did not look back. I didn’t need to.
Sebastian Cross had already embedded himself somewhere deep beneath my skin.
That night, long after the gala ended, long after Chris fell asleep beside me, I lay awake staring at the ceiling. My body still hummed with the memory of his voice, his gaze, the way he had seen through me without asking permission.
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