I stood on the balcony, the cool night air a welcome reprieve from the stifling tension inside. The city lights twinkled below like fallen stars, but I couldn't appreciate their beauty. My mind was racing, calculating the damage control I'd need to perform after Victor's slip-up.
"Aurora," he'd called me, using my research pseudonym in front of everyone—including Fiona and Caleb. Now the whispers were spreading through the gala like wildfire. Who was this Aurora person? How did the unapproachable Victor Prescott know her?
I gripped the balcony railing, my knuckles turning white. Years of careful secrecy threatened to unravel in a single night.
"There you are."
I turned to see Victor approaching, two champagne flutes in hand. He offered one to me with an apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry about earlier," he said. "I didn't realize you were maintaining your cover."
I accepted the champagne but didn't drink. "It's fine. We'll manage the fallout."
