ADRIAN'S P.O.V.
The night had settled into a comfortable rhythm. Lucian had successfully roped Teresa into his ridiculous plans, her reluctant groans of protest drowned out by his sheer determination to charm her into submission. I watched the scene unfold with the kind of amusement that comes from knowing the inevitable: she was going to give in. She always did when it came to Lucian. Poor Teresa was fighting a losing battle.
Juliette, however, was an entirely different story. She stood beside me, arms folded tightly across her chest, her piercing gaze sweeping over the clearing. The scene was alive—music pulsed through the air, glowing lights cast a dreamlike haze, and people swayed and laughed with unrestrained joy. Yet Juliette watched it all like a sentinel guarding her post, her posture radiating control and quiet authority.
