THE CEO's UNSCRIPTED WIFE

cut to cling and flow, designed to highlight exactly what her father intended to sell. Every sequin seemed to mock her, every bead a link in an invisible chain. "Are you ready, dear?" Sade's voic

, a grotesque smile plastered on his face as he conversed with a group of equally unsavory-looking men. He was closer than she'd anticipated. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of urgency. She needed to act, and fast. But who? The ballroom was a sea of unfamiliar faces, a dangerous hunting ground. She needed someone discreet, someone who wouldn't connect back to her father, someone who wouldn't expose her. A fleeting thought of the mysterious Ethan Thorne, host of this elaborate charade, crossed her mind, but he was rumored to be elusive, almost mythical. As her father launched into another booming introduction, Zuri feigned a dizzy spell, pressing a hand to her forehead. "Father, I... I feel a little faint. Could I just... find some air?" Solomon, momentarily distracted by a potential business associate, waved a dismissive hand. "Go, go. Don't wander far. Mr. Smith will be here soon." His words spurred her. Soon. This was her window. She slipped away from her father's orbit, her emerald gown a vivid streak against the muted tones of the other guests. She moved with purpose, past laughing groups, past clinking champagne flutes, her gaze darting, searching. She needed a shadow, a quiet corner, and the right opportunity. She found herself drifting towards a less crowded alcove near a sweeping staircase, partially hidden by a towering floral arrangement. And then she saw him. He stood alone, leaning against the ornate balustrade, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He wasn't engaged in conversation, wasn't surrounded by a fawning entourage. He simply was. Tall, with broad shoulders that strained the fabric of his impeccably tailored suit, he exuded an aura of quiet intensity. His dark hair was a little longer than strictly formal, curling slightly at the nape of his neck, and his profile, strong and unyielding, was turned towards the ballroom, as if observing, rather than participating. There was something in his stillness, in the way he held himself, that spoke of detachment, of being both present and utterly removed. He wasn't overtly handsome in a conventional, polished way, but there was a raw, captivating edge to him, a hint of something untamed beneath the refined exterior. He was a shadow amongst the glitter, a quiet force in a room full of noise. And then, as if sensing her gaze, he slowly turned his head. His eyes, the color of rich, dark coffee, met hers across the crowded room