The hotel ballroom was curated to look soft. Gentle lights. Beige curtains. A fireplace backdrop so faux it made his skin itch. Someone had called it "casual vulnerability."
Bullshit.
Nothing about this felt casual. Or vulnerable. It felt like a noose.
Nicky adjusted the mic stand. His fingers trembled and his eyes stung under the white-hot press of stage lights that turned the crowd into silhouettes.
For a second, he thought he should've worn his glasses not just to cut the glare, but to have something between him and them.
But Elias had caught that thought before it could root. He'd snorted over coffee that morning. Elias leaned in, voice low but firm. "No glasses, Nick. Not today. You wear those and you look like you're hiding. Or worse, lying. They need to see you."
All he could see now were blurred outlines and blinking red dots, cameras blinking like eyes. Behind them? He didn't know.
