Page 132 of The Art of Ruin

My entire body betrays me by getting warmer.

The first hour passes easier than I expect.

I talk with donors. Smile through introductions. Let Matteo drag me briefly onto the dance floor, where he spends most of the song trying to make me laugh. I find myself relaxing and having fun.

For the first time in a long time, I actually feel… good.

And every so often, no matter where I am in the room, I catch Adriano watching me.

Constantly.

Possessively.

Just enough that awareness of him settles beneath my skin and stays there all night.

As if I’m his.

Once, while I’m laughing at something Matteo says near the bar, I glance up and find Adriano already looking at me from across the room. The expression on his face changes slightly when I laugh—softens in a way so brief I almost think I imagined it.

Almost.

And somehow that tiny shift affects me more than the heated looks.

Because it feels real.

Dangerously real, like we’re sharing something between us.

By the time I step toward the corridor and the restroom near the back of the ballroom, my cheeks ache slightly from smiling more than I’m used to.

I barely make it around the corner before I hear my name.

Not spoken loudly, but muttered quietly, words not meant for me to hear.

“…still can’t believe she stayed after all that.”

I slow instinctively.

Two women stand near one of the alcoves further down the corridor, champagne glasses balanced delicately in manicured hands, both dressed in the kind of effortless elegance money buys.

They haven’t seen me yet.

“I heard he had the baby for months before she found out,” one says quietly.

The other winces. “God, how embarrassing.”

“I know.”

There’s a pause.

Then—

“Can you imagine the humiliation? Everyone talking about you and laughing. I’d rather die.”

Something inside me goes completely still.

Not because the words are cruel, though they are, but because they’re true.

Humiliation.