The flash of cameras was relentless, and Anastasia Laurent forced her stiffest smile as Dante's fingers laced around hers like chains. Her heart hammered in her chest—lips still tingling from the kiss he'd stolen so publicly. Her head buzzed from the frenzy around them, from the crowd chanting and reporters screaming questions as they made their way toward the gala entrance.
Dante smirked, perfectly calm in his tailored black tuxedo, a man who thrived under the weight of attention. Anastasia, on the other hand, fought the tremor in her jaw as they stepped onto the red carpet. Her heels clicked beside his, her posture elegant and composed, but beneath the surface? A volcano threatened to erupt.
Once inside the dazzling venue—where gold chandeliers glistened and a symphony swelled softly in the background—Anastasia exhaled.
"Was that really necessary?" she whispered, still holding her smile. "We're supposed to act like lovers in public, not... not do that."
