The text came out of the blue.
Chloe Westwood:Come out with us tonight. My treat. You need a night off. Or five.
Lena stared at it for a long moment.
She hadn't seen Chloe in months—not since Velvet Bloom fell apart and Lena disappeared into the blur of part-time gigs and translation work. She had meant to reply, to reach out, to say thank you for being a friend even when Lena had nothing left to offer.
But guilt made cowards of the best people.
Still, when Chloe insisted—she always did—Lena relented. And that night, she found herself slipping into a borrowed dress, curling her hair for the first time in weeks, and walking into a dimly lit rooftop lounge overlooking the glimmering skyline of New Illyria.
She felt out of place before she even stepped in.
Everyone sparkled. The laughter, the heels, the polished nails tapping on champagne flutes. It was a world Lena had once skimmed the edges of, but never truly belonged to.
"Lena!"
Chloe enveloped her in a hug that smelled of vanilla and expensive perfume. Her hair was perfectly styled, her dress designer, her smile genuine.
"You look amazing," she whispered, linking arms with her. "Don't argue."
Lena didn't.
The group was already gathered. Friends of Chloe's—rich, bright, successful. Lena felt their glances, too quick to be kind, too sharp to ignore. But she smiled and bowed her head politely, letting the discomfort roll off her shoulders like rain on glass.
And then she saw him.
Across the lounge, talking to a few other men in suits. His presence was quiet, but commanding. A tailored coat, a crisp shirt open at the collar, dark eyes that held too much knowing.
Ethan Cross.
Lena had heard of him before, always in passing. The youngest executive in his family's legacy firm, one of the wealthiest bachelors in New Illyria, practically allergic to interviews and media appearances. His photos existed online, but they never did him justice.
In person, he was… colder. Sharper.
And devastatingly attractive.
Lena didn't realize she was staring until Chloe leaned in.
"That's Ethan," she whispered. "And he's single."
Lena blinked. "He looks… busy."
"He's always busy. But I've been meaning to introduce you."
"I don't—"
"Lena, come on. Just talk. Be your charming self."
Before Lena could protest, Chloe had already called him over.
"Ethan, meet my best friend. Lena Hart."
His eyes landed on her. They didn't flick away. They simply watched, quietly assessing. Not rude, not warm—just observant, like he was trying to place her in a box and wasn't quite sure which one she fit in.
"Velvet Bloom," he said, after a beat.
Lena gave a polite smile. "What's left of it."
"Didn't think you were the party type."
"I'm not. Chloe dragged me."
"She's good at that."
Their conversation was short. Measured. She didn't know whether he liked her or tolerated her. But he didn't walk away, and somehow, that felt like permission.
The rest of the night blurred.
He didn't flirt. Didn't smile much. But when Chloe leaned away to take a call, he turned to Lena and asked, "Do you like being invisible in rooms like this?"
"I prefer it, actually," she replied without thinking.
That made him chuckle—just once. The sound was low, surprising.
"I'll remember that."
In the days that followed, Chloe kept inviting Lena along.
Game nights. Business dinners. Small private parties in high-rise apartments. And every time, Ethan was there.
He didn't seek her out.
But he didn't avoid her either.
She noticed the way he listened when she spoke, the way he stayed near when conversations split. He rarely messaged first, but when she texted, he eventually replied—dry, short replies, but replies nonetheless.
She began to fall.
Not all at once, but slowly, helplessly.
Like snow piling on a rooftop—soft and soundless—until one day, the weight became too much to hold in her heart.
"You really like him," Chloe said one night as they walked through a flower market.
Lena paused. "Is it that obvious?"
"To me? Always."
"Is it stupid?"
"No." Chloe sighed. "But it's going to hurt."
Lena knew what she meant. Ethan was from a different world. The kind of man who didn't need to fall in love, who could take or leave it at his leisure. He was respected, sought after, and insulated by power and silence.
Lena, in comparison, felt like background noise.
But still—she clung to the possibility.
Because she was tired of running.
Tired of pretending she wasn't lonely.
Tired of telling herself she didn't want something more.
And Ethan… was everything she had tried not to want.