The gala had moved into its most dangerous phase: the public Q&A. Under the white-hot glare of the ballroom spotlights, the cast of Ashes of Valeria sat like royalty on a velvet-draped dais. Lydia occupied the center position, her spine a rigid line of ivory silk, each vertebra locked in place as if held by invisible wire.
Nina sat two seats down, a shimmering vision in magenta that seemed to pull every stray photon in the room toward her. The distance between them might have been measured in inches, but it felt like continents.
Lydia's mind was a scorched earth of fury. Where did she get it? The question looped in her brain like a frantic heartbeat, drowning out the polite applause and manufactured laughter around her.
Did she steal it? Did she sleep with some desperate designer?
