The afterparty pulsed with champagne bubbles and curated euphoria. Golden light spilled through the grand hotel ballroom, glittering off chandeliers and glass walls that held the night skyline in a shimmering cage. Music swelled and dipped in perfect time with laughter, clinking glasses, and the click of designer heels on marble.
Eliana stood beside Luca, his arm linked with hers like she belonged there—and maybe tonight, she did. The gown hugged her just right, the makeup masked the fatigue, and the lights... well, the lights lied for her. She let them. He wore midnight blue velvet and pride like a fragrance, effortlessly radiant and unbothered by anything but the way his name echoed in this room.
"This," he announced, turning with the full force of his charm toward a group of onlookers, "is my muse. My actual, living, breathing muse. She kept the seams from unraveling backstage and still managed to look divine while doing it."
