The Mandarin Oriental’sballroom glitters like a jewel box, every surface reflecting light from crystal chandeliers that probably cost more than most people’s houses. Manhattan’s elite mingle in designer gowns and bespoke suits, their conversations a carefully orchestrated symphony of influence and wealth.
Another engagement party. Another performance for people who mistake money for power and pretense for sophistication.
Another evening of standing beside Kira and pretending we’re anything other than strangers wearing each other’s faces.
She arrives precisely on time—a feat of planning that would impress me if I weren’t so focused on the careful distance she maintains as we go through the motions of greeting our guests. Her dress tonight is midnight blue silk that makes her skin glow like moonlight, hair swept up to reveal the elegant line of her neck that I remember kissing just days ago.
She might as well be on another planet for all the warmth she shows me.
“Mr. Rosso, Ms. Petrov.” The photographer positions us near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. “Perhaps a more intimate pose this time? You’re engaged, after all.”
Kira’s smile never wavers as she steps closer, her hand settling on my chest with practiced ease. To everyone watching, we look like the perfect couple—sophisticated, attractive, perfectly matched in our mutual reserve.
Only I can feel the tension radiating from her like heat from a furnace. Only I notice the way she carefully avoids meeting my eyes directly.
“You haven’t been responding to my messages,” I murmur as the photographer adjusts his lighting.
“I’ve been busy,” she replies, her voice pitched low enough that only I can hear the careful neutrality.
“Busy with what?”
“Family matters.”
The photographer snaps away, capturing what probably looks like an intimate conversation between lovers. “Beautiful chemistry,” he comments. “You can see the connection.”
If only he knew what kind of connection. The kind stretched taut to the breaking point, humming with unspoken accusations and unanswered questions.
“We need to talk,” I say, my hand settling at her waist in a gesture that looks possessive but feels desperate. “About the surveillance footage, about what I’ve discovered?—”
“Not here.” Her fingers tighten almost imperceptibly against my chest. “Not tonight.”
“Then when? You’ve been avoiding me for three days.”
“I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve been processing new information about our situation.”
How she says ‘our situation’—clinical, detached, like we’re discussing quarterly earnings rather than whatever’s been building between us—sends irritation crawling up my spine.
“What kind of information?”
“The kind that changes things.”
Before I can press for details, we’re interrupted by a waiter offering champagne and the gradual migration of guests expecting us to circulate. For the next hour, we perform our roles with practiced efficiency—accepting congratulations, discussing wedding plans, and fielding questions about our future with carefully rehearsed answers.
All while maintaining the kind of polite distance that clarifies something fundamental has shifted.
I watch her work the room with elegant precision, noting how she engages with each person exactly as much as necessary and not a fraction more, how she deflects personal questions with charming redirection, and how she manages to be completely present while revealing absolutely nothing of substance.
It’s masterful. But also maddening.
“Your fiancée seems distracted tonight,” Marco observes, appearing at my elbow with his usual quiet. “Everything alright between you two?”
“Pre-wedding stress,” I reply automatically, the lie sliding out with disturbing ease.
“Hmm.” Marco’s weathered face shows nothing, but his tone suggests he’s unconvinced. “Just remember that appearances matter in our world. Especially when so many interested parties are watching them.”
He melts away into the crowd before I can ask what he means, leaving me with the uncomfortable realization that our tension is more obvious than I thought.
Across the room, Kira is deep in conversation with Alexei, their heads bent together in what looks like a serious discussion. Even from a distance, I can see the rigid set of her shoulders, the way her brother’s massive frame seems to loom over her in a gesture that could be protective or intimidating.
