ANNA'S POV

The glass of champagne was finally empty, a single drop sliding down the rim before falling off. I held the glass up just slightly, my fingers relaxed as if dismissing it from my presence. The waiter rushed over immediately—he practically appeared beside me, like he had been waiting for the exact second I finished. He took the glass from my hand with both hands, his eyes darting between me and the stunned man in front of me.

“Don’t ever put your hands on me again.” I said, each word sharp, my voice cutting through the muffled noise of the room like a blade dipped in venom.

“You little…”...