Killian chuckled heartily, pulling me closer with an arm around my shoulders. Phones flashed as people captured our "perfect" moment, and within minutes, the photos and videos would flood social media, painting a glossy picture of the ideal couple.
Yet amidst the sea of cheerful faces, one stood out—Anastacia Harris, Killian’s assistant. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her expression carefully neutral but her eyes betraying a smoldering anger.
After the spectacle, Killian leaned close and whispered, “Let’s celebrate properly. I’ll take you to that new French restaurant everyone’s raving about.”
I nodded, maintaining my smile, and excused myself to the bathroom.
As I washed my hands, a conversation drifted in from the hallway.
“Did you see that pink diamond necklace today? Oh my god, it’s enormous—800 million dollars! President Barnes really spares no expense for his wife!”
“I know! Ugh, I’m so jealous. When will I ever meet someone who treats me like that?”
Amid the giddy chatter, a sharp scoff interrupted.
Anastacia’s voice dripped with smugness as she flaunted her wealth.