Chapter 93 Broken Heart

• I held my breath as Diego stood there, enchanting the crowd of several hundred with his captivating manner and polished words, captivating the women—and some men—in the crowd with his mere presence.
• There is something magnetic about the man. Although I spent the night convincing myself that I hate him, I couldn’t help but listen attentively. For his genuine love for Alaska, the memories he has had, and his hopes for the future as president and CEO of the entire company. That was hours ago. Now that the orchestra has finished, the elaborate chandeliers burn brightly, and a steady beat of electronic music fills the air. I’ve never actually been to a club, but I imagine this is what it’s like: the constant procession of alcohol that will surely guarantee a night of debauchery. Where once women moved with grace, standing and taking it all in, now they throw their heads back with wild laughter. Where men arrived dressed in tuxedos, they have now shed their vests, and bow ties hang loosely from their necks.
• Except for Diego, of course. He stands sculptural, holding the same drink he started with after the speeches, listening and smiling, and occasionally brushing a woman’s arm or shoulder—or the small of her back. Every time he does, I see them catch their breath and light up in their eyes. And a pang of pain stabs me in the chest.