Kristen
Six months ago, a night like this would have felt like an interrogation. I would have spent the evening two steps behind Kevin, clutching a glass of wine I didn't want, making sure I didn't say anything to "embarrass" his brand or tarnish his image.
But tonight, the only brand I was representing was my own.
The Grand Ballroom was a sea of crystal chandeliers and whispered millions, a high-society fundraiser to benefit the victims of human trafficking. I was here as a
donor, by special invitation —a sentence I still had to repeat to myself to believe it was true.
"You're overthinking again," Ezra’s voice rumbled near my ear, low and private.
I looked up at him and smiled. He looked like the king of the world in his charcoal tuxedo, his long black hair pulled back with severe,
