Then it happened.
My fingers lost grip, and the glass I had been holding slipped from my hand, crashing to the floor. Water soaked into my dress, and the sharp sound shattered the moment like glass under pressure.
The room froze.
Marcus' and Xavier’s heads turned toward me instantly.
“You okay?” Marcus asked, his tone dripping with concern. So practiced. So insincere.
I raised my head, managing to pull my lips into a believable smile. My body was trembling, but I curled my hands into tight fists under the table, steadying myself. “Yeah,” I said, with a calmness that felt foreign. “I just need to use the restroom.”
He tilted his head slightly, a faint furrow between his brows. “Do you want me to come—?”
“No.” I cut him off, voice firm but soft. “I’ve got it.”
With careful, steady steps, I stood. I didn’t let myself falter. I didn’t let them see the wreckage behind my calm exterior.
And then I walked away. Past the chandeliers that cast fake elegance over the crowd, past the laughing guests and waiters clinking glasses, past the music and chatter that filled the air. No one noticed that a girl had just lost everything.
But I didn’t turn toward the bathroom.
I left.