The charity gala in Helsinki was the turning point. The chandeliers glittered like diamonds, and the champagne flowed, but the pressure in the room was suffocating. Anna looked like a queen, but I could see the tension in her jaw.
She asked me to dance. It was a breach of protocol, a breach of hierarchy, but I took her hand. On the dance floor, surrounded by the elite, she squeezed my hand tight, like a lifeline.
“I hate this,” she whispered into my ear, the music drowning out her confession to everyone but me. “I feel like a statue in a museum.” I pulled her slightly closer, offering silent support.
Maybe it was the lights, or the exhaustion, or the way she looked at me. I leaned in and kissed her. It wasn’t a business move; it was a human one. And exactly at that second, a camera flash blinded us.