Serena's POV
How the hell did I end up on this stage?
The crowd's energy is infectious in the worst possible way—champagne-fueled enthusiasm mixed with that particular brand of London society bloodlust that comes out when they sense drama. I can feel hands literally pushing me forward, voices shouting encouragement that sounds more like demands.
Great. Just what I needed tonight.
I grip the microphone like a lifeline, my palms already slick with sweat. The spotlight is blinding, but somehow my eyes find him immediately. Ryan. He's standing near the back, that unsettling intensity radiating from him like heat waves. His stare has been burning into me all evening—relentless, uncomfortable, like he's trying to figure out some puzzle I don't even know I'm part of.
Why does he
