Page 30 of Veil of Obsession
Shaking off the thought that I might have been caught, I smile at the man my mother is introducing me to. Daniel Morgan, son of Davis Morgan, a politician.
“Daniel, I want you to meet my daughter, Princess.”
He gives me a polite smile. “Your mother did mention that you’re beautiful, but she didn’t say that you’re enthralling.”
Daniel Morgan stands tall before me, all effortless confidence and carefully measured charm. He’s undeniably handsome—sculpted features, dark brown hair slicked back with precision, a strong jawline accentuated by just the right amount of shadow. His hazel eyes gleam with something unreadable, shifting between gold and brown beneath the ballroom’s dim chandeliers.
He carries himself like a man accustomed to power: polished, poised, predictable.
And yet completely uninteresting.
I force a smile, keeping my expression light and airy, just as my mother expects. “That’s very kind of you to say, Mr. Morgan.”
His lips quirk. “Daniel, please. No need for formalities between us.”
Between us.
I resist the urge to scoff. He speaks as if there will be a future where he matters to me.
Instead, I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, tilting my head just enough to let him think I’m interested. “Then you must call me Princess.”
A subtle smirk plays on his lips, like he thinks he’s won something.
Before I can excuse myself, he extends a hand. “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”
I hesitate—not because I care to dance with him, but because I know my mother is watching. I can feel her gaze, sharp and expectant.
So I do what is expected of me. I place my gloved hand in his.
The orchestra shifts into another waltz as Daniel leads me to the dance floor, his grip firm, but not forceful. Practiced. The way he moves suggests years of lessons. Formal training. The kind of upbringing that demands perfection in every motion.
I let him guide me and twirl me like I’m something delicate.
I hate it.
He speaks, but I only half-listen. Something about his father’s connections, his time in Paris, the upcoming elections. I nod at the appropriate moments and smile just enough to be polite, but my mind is elsewhere.
With someone else.
My eyes flick across the room, searching, scanning.
Lucio.
I spot him near the bar, standing with Dana. They’re talking, laughing—something private, something shared.
A sharp spike of jealousy cuts through me, searing hot and violent. My steps falter.
Daniel notices, his brow furrowing slightly. “Everything alright?”
I recover quickly, flashing him an apologetic smile. “Of course. Just a little distracted.”
He chuckles, as if he understands. “I get it. These events can be overwhelming.”
That’s not it. But I let him believe what he wants.
I let him spin me again, his palm resting at the small of my back, but my eyes stay locked on Lucio. Waiting. Watching.
Then, as if he feels my stare, he moves. Lucio hands his date his glass, murmuring something before stepping away. He weaves through the ballroom with slow, purposeful strides, his shoulders tense, his expression unreadable.
