The Elara he knew wore cotton pajamas and smelled of vanilla. This woman smelled of polished wood and wealth, power and sophistication. She was taller, her posture majestic, her chin raised, as if the room needed her permission to turn.
“Elara…” Julia stammered, his self-assured, CEO-like voice reduced to a pathetic squeal. “What are you talking about? Are you… are you hallucinating? You need to go home. You’re making a fool of yourself.”
He reached out to grab her arm, a control reflex he had used a thousand times before. Before his fingers could touch the velvet of her dress, an enormous hand grabbed his wrist. It was Sebastian Vae, the man Julia believed was just a legal advisor for Aurora. In person, Sebastian was 1.93 m tall, with a scar on his eyebrow and a grip like a hydraulic press.
“If I were you, Mr. Thor,” Sebastian growled in a voice only they could hear, “I wouldn’t touch the president.”
Isabella Ricci, feeling her focus fading, took a step forward. She swept her hair back, trying to take control. “Oh, please, this is ridiculous. Julia, tell your housewife to go back to her garden. This is a business gala, not a costume party. Who does she think she is, ruining our evening?”
Elara finally looked at Isabella. She didn’t seem angry. She didn’t seem jealous. She looked at her like a scientist observes bacteria on a Petri dish: slightly interested, but ultimately insignificant.
“Isabella Ric
