Book 3-Book 5

The night had the pulse of a city that never slept, and from the

terrace of 432 Park Avenue, Manhattan stretched beneath me

like a river of gold and neon. Lights reflected off glass towers,

and somewhere below, tires hissed against rain-slick streets,

a heartbeat synchronized with mine. Inside, the gala roared

with opulence-Dior gowns, Valentino tuxedos, Dom Pérignon

chilled just so-but the spectacle didn't hold my attention. She

did.

Johnika moved through the crowd like a subtle flare of flame

th...