The flashbulbs go off like mini explosions, blinding me for a second.

Adele steps out of the black town car with the grace of a woman born for spectacle. Her gown is red—not soft crimson, not burgundy, but scandalous, molten red. It shimmers under the entrance lights of the Orion Grand Hall, catching on every curve like it’s been painted onto her skin. Gasps reverberate across the red carpet. The paparazzi eat it up as cameras click like machine guns.

“Look who’s back,” someone murmurs near the velvet ropes.

Leo freezes on the other side of the lobby.

He shouldn’t be surprised. He shouldn’t care.

But his pulse jumps. His...