Elena’s POV

My gaze drifted across the rows of audience seats until it stopped at the VIP section.

There he was.

Damien sat there with his usual stillness. One leg crossed, a porcelain teacup in his hand, steam curling faintly in front of his face. The event organizer beside him leaned close, speaking with the kind of nervous respect people always used around him.

But Damien didn’t seem to hear a word. His eyes were on me, steady, unreadable, dark as wet ink.

That look sent a faint chill ...