The gala was in full swing.
Laughter floated through the air, glasses clinked, and camera flashes lit the hall in bursts of gold.
Val sat at one of the round tables near the center, her posture straight, her smile soft but measured. She'd been doing this for hours — still shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries, and maintaining that calm, effortless grace everyone expected from Celestia Valentina Moreau.
Across the hall, Avery Brooke Prescott was eating it up. She glided between tables like she owned the place, one hand linked around Chad's arm, the other holding her glass like it was part of her outfit. Her laugh carried easily, sharp and polished, drawing just enough attention to make people turn.
Val had caught her eye again earlier, but Avery had looked away like it was nothing. Still, Val could tell she'd noticed — of course she did.
