Page 90 of Sinfully Yours

Emily grins, unbothered. "I love you, too."

We finish lunch with easy conversation, but as I walk home, Emily's words stick with me.

You suck at pretending when it comes to people you actually care about.

The problem is… she might be right.

By the time I get back to my apartment, I'm exhausted. Too much thinking. Too much feeling.

I collapse onto my bed with every intention of closing my eyes for five minutes.

Naturally, I wake up two hours later to my alarm screaming at me to get ready.

I groan but force myself up, stretching before heading straight for the shower.

Tonight needs to be perfect. Flawless. If Vanessa is going to believe I'm spiraling, I need to look just put together enough that my little cracks will seem real.

By the time I'm done with my hair and makeup, I look… stunning. Even I can admit it. The deep blue dress I picked with Liam is sleek and impossibly elegant, dipping low at the back and hugging my figure in a way that makes it clear I didn't come to play.

When I slip on my heels and add the finishing touch—my mother's bracelet, still warm from where I'd held it tightly in my palm—I feel invincible.

I exhale slowly.Game on.

Liam is waiting downstairs in the car, and when I slide into the passenger seat, I don't think he forgets to breathe.

I know he does.

His hands tighten on the wheel. His jaw goes slack for half a second. And then his gaze drags over me, slow and heated, like he's committing every detail to memory.

"Ava," he says, voice rough.

I grin cheekily. "You like?"

He huffs out a breath, shaking his head like I'm dangerous. "You know I do."

His hand flexes on the gear shift, like he's fighting the urge to reach for me.

For a second, the world outside this car doesn't exist.

Then he exhales sharply and pulls out onto the road. "Let's go."

A half-hour later, he pulls up beside an impeccably decked gallery.

Golden lights drape between towering marble columns, their glow soft and ethereal, like fireflies caught in midair. The grand entrance shimmers beneath them, every polished surface kissed with warmth. Beyond the towering glass windows, the city skyline stretches like a painted backdrop, its reflection rippling across the glass, blurring the line between reality and a dream.

The night hums with elegance, the air rich with the scents of roses and aged champagne. A valet in crisp black and white holds the door open, and as we step inside, the world transforms.

The ceiling soars above us, adorned with chandeliers that drip crystal like frozen rain, scattering light in a thousand directions. The walls, lined with gilded paneling and intricate moldings, gleam under the glow. Everywhere, the space breathes opulence—artwork framed in gold, fresh floral arrangements spilling over silver vases, and a polished parquet floor that reflects the twinkle of chandeliers like a star-strewn sky beneath our feet.

Laughter and soft conversation thread through the air, mingling with the faint strains of a live orchestra playing somewhere deeper within the hall. Waiters glide through the crowd, balancing trays of delicate hors d'oeuvres and bubbling champagne, their movements seamless, rehearsed.

It's stunning. Romantic in a way I wasn't expecting.

Liam keeps a protective hand on the small of my back as we step inside, guiding me effortlessly through the crowd. But when I glance up at him, his gaze isn't on the art or the guests.

It's on me.

Like I'm the only masterpiece in the room.

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