Liana’s POv
The gala lights glitter like champagne bubbles, gold, silver, a thousand fractured reflections on polished marble. My reflection smiles back from every surface, poised and unshaken, though the truth under my skin trembled.
This is supposed to be a celebration. Z-Core’s annual Innovation Gala, where the company showcases its brightest minds, its newest triumphs, and this year its resolve after the leak scandal.
I shouldn’t even be here, not after the weeks of scrutiny, the endless interviews, the subtle distancing by colleagues who suddenly forgot how to meet my eyes but Stanley insisted. “Visibility helps,” he said in that perfectly neutral tone of his. “You need to be seen standing tall.”
So here I am, standing tall in a dress that feels like armor, smiling until my face
