Chapter Twelve — The Fire Beneath the Glass
The rooftop glittered above the city—
a kingdom of glass and gold where everything looked perfect from far enough away.
Willow moved through it like smoke—graceful, untouchable, perfectly rehearsed.
She laughed when expected, nodded at stories she didn't hear, and answered shallow questions with the calm precision of a woman performing surgery on her own emotions.
The emerald silk of her dress shimmered like sin under the lights, each movement catching the city's glow. Her earrings flashed like knives whenever she turned her head.
Christy glided from guest to guest, her laughter brittle beneath the music—bright, hollow, expensive.
Miles stayed close, orbiting her like guilt in a tailored suit.
He smiled when he was supposed to, said all the right things, but his eyes—
his eyes never left Willow.
She didn't need to look to know it.
