(Michelle POV)
The soft hum of conversation filled the grand hall as the second half of the charity auction began. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above us, scattering light across the crowd like falling stars. Waiters glided between clusters of guests, refilling flutes of champagne and offering trays of delicate canapés. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and money.
Anthony stood beside me, a glass of sparkling water in his hand. We had spoken earlier — the awkwardness that lingered between us had eased, at least on the surface. Still, there was an invisible distance that neither of us dared to cross.
"Should we move closer?" I asked, nodding toward the stage where the next auction item — a painting by a well-known artist — was being presented.
Anthony shook his head. "We can see fine from here." His tone was calm, polite, composed — always composed.
