(Michelle Lui's POV)
The moment Andy led me toward the center of the dance floor, the lights dimmed, the music softened, and the entire rooftop ballroom seemed to shift.
It wasn't magical.
It was terrifying.
Because people actually moved aside.
As in—
PARTED.
Like we were some kind of celebrity couple entering a drama scene.
"Andy Peng is dancing—who's that girl—"
"Oh my god she's so pretty—"
"Is she famous too?"
"Are they dating?"
I wanted to crawl into the floor.
Andy, on the other hand?
He looked like he was born in the spotlight.
He placed one gloved hand at my waist and offered his other hand for mine.
Gentle.
Warm.
Natural.
"Ready, My Chelle?" he murmured.
I choked on my own breath. "Stop calling me that!"
He grinned, unrepentant. "No."
And we began to dance.
Slow.
Close.
Uncomfortably smooth.
His hand on my waist wasn't flirtatious—just grounding, guiding me through steps like he'd done this a thousand times before.
