(Lena’s POV)

The morning after the gala, the city felt sharper. Light knifed through the blinds, slicing across the floor and landing on my phone, which hadn’t stopped vibrating since dawn. Every notification was a reminder that privacy could vanish overnight.

“VANCE CEO AND MYSTERY GUEST SET INTERNET ABLAZE.”

“WHO IS LENA MARLOWE?”

My name was everywhere. I scrolled until the words blurred. The photo from last night, Damian’s hand on my arm, his gaze cutting toward the cameras ...