Celina’s POV
THE ELEVATOR doors opened, and I almost lost my nerve.
I had dressed in one of the gowns Lucien had insisted I wear—deep emerald silk that clung to my curves in ways I wasn’t sure I had the confidence to pull off. My reflection in the mirrored wall had been my first warning: I didn’t look like myself. I looked like someone molded to fit into his glittering world, a Cinderella dragged to the ball with no fairy godmother to shield her from the stares.
“Stop fidgeting,” Lucien murmured at my side, his hand brushing mine as we stepped into the hotel’s rooftop restaurant. “You’ll make them think I kidn*pped you.”
“You basically did,” I muttered under my breath, the sting of his possessive decree still raw in my chest. He had guards shadowing me now. He had forbidden me from
