ARIA'S POV

The ballroom was a warzone disguised in sequins and soft jazz. My heels clicked against polished marble as Kane led me deeper. Everyone was dressed like old money and smiling like politicians.

His hand stayed on the small of my back, a perfectly possessive gesture.

People buzzed around us like moths drawn to the flame Kane had sparked with his little "she’s my wife" bombshell. I smiled back, nodding politely, cheeks aching already from the effort. I bit the inside of my ...