The grandeur of the gala unfolded like a dream spun from silk and gold, where opulence dripped from every corner, and the air was thick with the scent of power and deception. The ballroom gleamed with an almost unnatural glow, chandeliers casting a warm, golden hue over the sea of elegantly dressed guests. A tapestry of whispers wove through the crowd, each thread a potential secret, each glance a possible betrayal.
Ava, dressed in a gown that sparkled like the night sky, stepped into this den of lions, her heart pounding like a war drum. Every movement was calculated, every breath measured, as if the very air around her might betray her. She moved with the grace of a shadow, her eyes scanning the room, searching for a face she had never seen but whose presence she felt in the marrow of her bones. Damien, the oasis in her desert of fear, walked beside her, his hand lightly brushing hers—a silent promise of protection in a world where danger lurked in every corner.
