Willow had practiced the smile in the car mirror on the way to the gala.
Not the bright one — that one didn't fit anymore.
Not the soft one — too vulnerable.
Not the sharp one — too honest.
She chose the middle one. The curated version.
The one that said: I'm fine. Really.
Now, standing beneath the chandeliers of the L.A. Summit ballroom, she wore it like armor.
People shimmered around her — executives in black suits, investors with slick hair and glittering cufflinks, women in gowns that whispered when they walked. Cameras flashed in rhythmic bursts, turning the room into a constellation of artificial stars.
Victor stayed close enough to anchor her, far enough to give her space.
He'd already introduced her to six CEOs, three program directors, and one woman who practically glowed because Forbes had named her "Tech Visionary of the Year."
Willow nodded in all the right places.
Smiled when expected.
Held her glass with steady fingers.
Inside?
