The moment Ava stepped into the grand ballroom, she felt every pair of eyes on her.
Gold chandeliers cast a warm glow over the glittering crowd, the soft murmur of conversation mixing with the gentle strains of a violin ensemble. L'Amour Élite had spared no expense—ornate floral arrangements lined the room, champagne flowed endlessly, and the air was thick with wealth, power, and calculated charm.
But Ava wasn't thinking about the grandeur.
She was thinking about him.
Ryan stood a few feet away, looking far too good in a tailored black tuxedo, his tie just slightly loosened—like he couldn't be bothered to follow the rules completely.
But that wasn't what made her breath hitch.
It was the way he was looking at her.
Like she was the only woman in the room.
Like she was his.
A slow, appreciative smirk spread across his lips as his gaze traveled over her. "Wow."
Ava arched a brow. "Wow, what?"