Eva’s blood roared in her ears. Her stomach dropped as the weight of his words—and the performance, crashed over her.

She forced her lips into a trembling smile, the kind survivors were expected to wear. A smile that said, I’m trying, I’m grateful, I’m still standing. But inside, she couldn’t breathe.

Every flashbulb seared her vision, every shout felt like a gunshot. This wasn’t survival—this was spectacle. And Alessandro had just written her into his script without ...