Chad's hands were shaking.
His phone was still recording.
Muscle memory—habit. Document everything.
Even your own public execution, apparently.
But also, he was here. Seeing this first. Before it went viral.
The music softened.
Jiro's voice dropped to almost a whisper.
It was just a prank... right?
Squeak-squeak.
SPLAT!
The room erupted. Applause. Laughter. Phones everywhere, capturing, recording, uploading in real time.
Chad stood frozen. His phone was still recording. The timer read 3:47.
If he posted first, he controlled the narrative.
That was marketing.
SIXTEEN
Engaged… For Real?
April
The song ended, applause crashed over her. A room full of people proving they knew how to recognize art and how to be seen recognizing it, phones still up, voices rising into that gossip-converting-to-social-currency.
Killian reached her though the crowd.
“There you are.” He wrapped an arm around her waist.
April tried to keep her shoulders level and her spine straight. Like someone who hadn’t been turned into a lyric and lit on fire.
Then Killian shifted and cleared his throat. It wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be. Killian Blackwood clearing his throat carried the weight of a gavel hitting marble.
Champagne glasses lifted. Crystal tapped against crystal in that particular rhythm that meant someone important is about to speak and you will listen. April watched it all and went very still.
His other hand found hers. The one with the ring. The heirloom that had appeared like a plot twist somewhere betweenthis is a prankandwait, is this real.
He lifted it. The ring caught the light, fracturing into a thousand sharp sparks. I have an announcement," Killian said, his boardroom voice; the one that made competitors reconsider their strategies.
"April Feuller," he continued, turning slightly so the room could see her face, see the ring, see the very deliberate way he was holding her, "is my fiancée."
The room gasped. Then it erupted.
Applause. Louder this time. Mixed with shocked laughter and the immediate rustle of people leaning toward each other to confirm they'd heard correctly.
Her internal monologue screamed options:
Fainting
