The venue is a historic building in Midtown, lit up like something out of a fairy tale. Photographers are lined up at the entrance, cameras flashing as guests arrive.
“Ready?” Julian asks.
“No.”
“Too bad. We’re here.”
The driver opens my door, and I step out into the chaos of flashing lights and shouted questions. Julian is beside me immediately, his hand on my elbow, guiding me through the crowd with practiced ease.
We make it inside, and the noise of the photographers fades into the softer hum of conversation and classical music.
The ballroom is massive. Crystal chandeliers, marble floors, hundreds of people in evening wear drinking champagneand pretending to care about whatever charity this event is supposedly supporting.
Julian introduces me to a dozen people whose names I immediately forget. Politicians, business owners, socialites who want to be seen at the right events. Everyone is polite, curious about where I’ve been but too well-mannered to ask directly.
I smile and nod and give vague answers, and the whole time I’m scanning the room.
Looking for him.
Wondering if he’s here.
Wondering if he knows I’m back.
17
CASSIAN
I seeher the moment she walks in but I wait, letting her settle into the evening, letting her think maybe she’s safe. Julian introduces her to a dozen people, and she handles each conversation with practiced ease.
Then she excuses herself and heads toward the hallway that leads to the restrooms.
Alone.
I set down my drink and follow.
The hallway is quieter, away from the main ballroom. Soft lighting, expensive artwork on the walls. A place designed for private conversations between people who don’t want to be overheard.
She’s halfway down when I call her name. “Aurelia.”
She freezes. Turns slowly, and when she sees me, all the color drains from her face.
“Cassian.”
My name in her mouth sounds different than it did six years ago. Less confident. More afraid.
Good.
I walk toward her, and she backs up until she hits the wall. “We need to talk,” I say.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I don’t care what you think. You owe me answers.”
She looks past me, toward the ballroom. “Julian is waiting for me.”
“Let him wait.”
“Cassian—”
