riosity, envy, and speculation. Why her? She wasn't a socialite. She wasn't an heiress. She had no influence, no power-not in the way these people measured it. She was nothing but

estion. A request would have given her a choice. Aidan Sinclair wasn't giving her one. Leila hesitated, glancing around. Dozens of people were still watching. Some with curiosity. Others with barely veiled jealousy. She had no idea what game he was playing, but she couldn't afford to become his pawn. "I don't-" "Now." His voice carried the unmistakable weight of authority, and for a fleeting second, she wondered how many people had dared to say no to him and lived to tell the tale. With a deep breath, she nodded. Aidan turned without another word, leading her out of the ballroom through a private side door. The moment they stepped into the dimly lit corridor, the noise from the auction faded into an eerie silence. It was just the two of them now. Leila exhaled sharply, trying to steady herself. "I don't know what you think you're doing," she said, keeping her voice level, "but I didn't sign up for this." Aidan turned to face her. His blue eyes were piercing, unrelenting. "You came here for a reason," he said. "And now, you have my attention." A cold rush of realization settled in her chest. He knew. Somehow, he knew why she was here. Leila clenched her fists, resisting the urge t