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Especially if it does.

The evening stretches on endlessly, dragging under the weight of forced smiles and hollow conversations—too many people pretending to care about a cause that, for most of them, is nothing more than a backdrop for their own image.

Everyone here is performing, proving something, selling something. And tonight, it feels worse than usual.

Because Irina isn’t here.

She’s always by my side at events like this, acting as a buffer between me and the endless stream of people convinced they deserve a few minutes of my time—long enough to pitch an idea, a deal, a collaboration I have no interest in.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had to handle that on my own. And I’ve missed exactly none of it.

We’re seated at a table with the guys, Sierra, and Thalia. At least that part makes this whole thing tolerable.

Thalia, on the other hand, hasn’t looked at me once since we sat down. Not once. It’s like I don’t exist.

She’s fully engaged with the others, her energy easy, natural, leaning into conversations, reacting, her hands moving as she speaks, her expression alive in a way that makes it impossible not to notice—even when she’s deliberately ignoring me.

Now she’s deep in conversation with Sierra, both of them completely absorbed.

“Do we have to stay much longer?” Kai mutters, clearly done with the evening. “I’d rather disappear into a club.”

That earns a round of amused reactions from all of us, the tension breaking… until it doesn’t.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the host’s voice filters through the room, overly bright, polished to the point of irritation. “I’d like us all to take a moment to celebrate a couple who,” he pauses, letting the anticipation build, a self-satisfied note slipping into his tone, “let’s be honest, took us all by surprise when we heard they’re actually together.”

The attention shifts instantly.

Antonia’s hand curls around my arm, light but intentional, a silent acknowledgment—gratitude, maybe, or reassurance.

I don’t react.

Instead, I glance toward the guys, and find every single one of them watching me with unmistakable amusement.

Of course they are.

They know how much I hate this kind of spotlight. Which raises the obvious question—why the hell did I agree to this?

“Let’s give a warm round of applause to Ethan Hardy and Antonia Bordeaux,” the host continues, his voice carrying effortlessly across the room, “two people who represent one of the most powerful—and beautiful—couples out there.”

Kill me now.

“And to celebrate their love, we invite them to open the dance floor tonight.”

Perfect.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter under my breath before exhaling slowly. “Let’s go,” I add quietly to Antonia, before I give myself time to reconsider.

Behind us, I can already hear the others reacting, their laugh barely contained, but I ignore it.

Antonia turns toward me with a radiant smile, the kind that could convince anyone watching that what is between us is real, undeniable.

She takes my hand, and we step onto the dance floor, moving into position as the music begins, the slow rhythm of the waltz guiding every step.

Her body tenses slightly against mine, enough for me to notice.

I lean closer, my voice low against her ear, “Having second thoughts?”

“N…no,” she answers quickly, her voice almost lost under the music. “Just… nerves.”