Dydra's grip tightened around the elite's arm as they stepped fully into the ballroom.
It was immediate.
The shift.
The weight of a hundred gazes settling upon her at once.
She felt it in the stillness, in the way conversations died mid-sentence, in the way movement itself seemed to falter. Shock lingered openly on many faces, thinly veiled on others. For a fleeting moment, doubt crept in.
Had she made the right decision?
Her fingers curled just a little tighter against his arm.
Her eyes flicked toward the man beside her.
His chin was lifted, his posture unyielding—every inch of him radiating quiet dominance, as though the room, the people, the very moment itself bent to his will. He did not falter. He did not hesitate.
And somehow… that steadied her.
Yet even now, she could not understand it—how he had done all this.
The dress.
The transformation.
The girl she had been only hours ago felt like someone distant… almost unreal.
Across the room, Lannae stared.
