ROSE’S POV

The ballroom was a sea of beautiful gowns and tailored suits, the crystal chandeliers illuminated the place, music floating through the air like perfume. Everyone looked perfect, laughing and dancing and toasting the queen.

But all I could feel was the egg inside me.

Every step I took shifted it, pressing it deeper, reminding me it was there. My thighs were slick already, my body humming with a low, constant ache that made it impossible to think straight.

Damien guided me onto the dance floor, one strong hand on the small of my back, the other clasping mine. He moved like he owned the room—smooth, confident, devastating in...