The crystal chandelier of the penthouse ballroom cast jagged shards of light across the marble floor, mirroring the shattered champagne flute that lay between Aryan and Sia. Aryan had instinctively reached down, his hand brushing against Sia’s trembling fingers as they both tried to gather the glass.

Maya stood ten feet away, her silhouette a sharp, obsidian blade against the golden light of the party. Her eyes, cold and calculating, locked onto the contact.