The cold didn't leave my skin even after I stepped back into the ballroom.
In fact, the warmth of the gala felt nauseatingly artificial compared to the brutal, freezing honesty of the terrace.
I didn't follow William back immediately.
I couldn't.
My heart was still hammering against my ribs in a frantic, uneven rhythm, and my pulse was a dull roar in my ears. I stood in a dim service corridor for a long five minutes, leaning my forehead against the cool wallpaper, forcing my breathing to regulate.
Rule 1: No feelings.
I repeated it like a mantra until the vibration in my hands stopped. I adjusted the strap of my gown, smoothed my hair, and stepped back into the light.
By the time I re-emerged, the "Ice King" had returned in full force. I spotted William at the VIP table, a fresh glass of something dark in his hand. He was drinking it with a steady, clinical pace that told me he was trying to numb the jagged edges I'd left in him.
He didn't look my way.
Not once.
