ing of the year. Hers. Grace sat in front of the mirror, surrounded by makeup artists and stylists who moved like choreographed dancers. Laughter and excitement filled the room, but none of

she whispered back. "Don't what?" "Don't pretend." His jaw tightened, but his thumb brushed over her knuckles just once, almost involuntarily. "Wouldn't dream of it," he said softly. The ceremony blurred. Words about love and unity floated past her like smoke. Her mind drifted to the pen in her shaking hand when she signed the contract, to Adrian's calm voice, to the way her heart had thudded when he'd said, Because I don't want anyone else to. When the officiant said, "You may now kiss the bride," Grace's pulse stopped. Adrian's hand found her waist. The touch was polite, almost distant, but something about it made her knees weak. His lips brushed hers light, brief, formal. The cameras flashed. The guests sighed. But in that single second, she felt it a spark beneath the restraint. A fire both of them were pretending not to see. When he pulled back, his expression was unreadable. "Congratulations," he murmured. She whispered back, "To the victors?" His lips curved slightly. "To the survivors." The reception was chaos. Reporters outside. Champagne inside. Speeches, laughter, endless congratulations. Grace smiled for photos, posed for family portraits, and accepted compliments she didn't care about. Adrian stayed close always a few feet away, polite, collected, untouchable. Every time their eyes met, she saw it again: that quiet tension neither of them could name. During the first dance, he offered his hand. "May I?" She hesitated. "Do I have a choice?" "Not tonight," he said, faint amusement flickering in his eyes. As they moved together, the music wrapped around them slow, haunting, intimate. His hand rested lightly at her back; hers lay stiff against his shoulder. "You really don't smile much, do you?" she said under her breath. "Only when there's something worth smiling about." "Meaning today isn't?" He looked down at her, gaze unreadable. "Meaning today feels like a perfor