The car ride back home from the club was mostly quiet. The night had left a strange chill in the air, but it wasn't the cold that made Isabella wrap her arms tightly around herself. It was the memory. The stranger. His eyes. His hands. The way time had stopped the moment he touched her.
As soon as Emily parked the car and they got inside the apartment, she tossed her heels across the room and collapsed on the couch with a loud sigh.
"You took forever in that bathroom," Emily said, raising a brow as she removed her makeup with wipes. "I almost thought you bailed on me."
Isabella hesitated, standing by the door as though the air in the room had become too thick to breathe. "Something… happened," she said quietly.
Emily paused, giving her a sharp look. "What do you mean 'something happened'?"
Isabella stepped out of her heels and walked slowly to the couch, sinking down beside her friend. Her fingers trembled slightly as she pulled her hair away from her face.
"There was a man," she began. "He… he cornered me in the hallway near the bathroom. I think he was drunk. He wouldn't let me leave. He grabbed me."
Emily shot up from the couch, her eyes wide. "What the hell?! Why didn't you scream or call me?"
"I didn't have time to react. He pinned me against the wall and was trying to touch me. I was scared. I was about to push him when…"
She paused, her eyes going faraway, lost in the scene playing again in her mind. "He came. The man from earlier… tall, broad, glowing almost like moonlight. He appeared out of nowhere."
Emily narrowed her eyes, confused. "He who?"
"I don't know his name," Isabella whispered. "But he was beautiful. God, Em… I've never seen a man like that. Eight feet tall, maybe more. Hair like black silk. His eyes… cold, sharp, yet mesmerizing. His brows were so perfectly arched, his lips so full and pink, and his nose…" she smiled faintly, remembering the high bridge and sharp line. "He looked unreal. Like he wasn't supposed to be walking among humans."
Emily blinked. "Okay, slow down. Are you sure he's not an actor or model or something?"
"He beat the man so badly, Em. I couldn't even see when he moved. One second the man was touching me, the next he was on the floor, groaning, bleeding. And the stranger just… stood there, staring at me. His eyes, Em. They saw through me. Like I was a puzzle he'd already solved."
Emily stood up and grabbed her phone. "Okay, now I need to see who this godly man is. No way someone that fine just walks into a club like a ghost and nobody talks about it online."
She searched Instagram, Twitter, even Reddit, typing in keywords, scrolling through images. "What did he look like again? Any name, tattoo, something?"
Isabella shook her head. "He didn't say a word. But I remember seeing the edge of a tattoo peeking out from under his coat. A dragon, I think."
Emily kept scrolling, frustration rising. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. What kind of man looks like a walking Greek god, saves a woman from assault, and disappears into thin air with zero digital footprint?"
Isabella wrapped her arms around her knees. "Maybe he's not from here."
Emily snorted. "Babe, we're not in a fantasy novel."
Isabella didn't reply. Her mind was still stuck on those eyes.
The next morning arrived softly, sunlight stretching its fingers through the window blinds. Emily was the first to rise, dragging Isabella out of bed with complaints about chores. They did their usual morning rituals—brushing, washing their faces, pulling their hair into messy buns—and then headed to the grocery store just a few blocks away.
They returned with bags full of ingredients and decided to cook pasta. Emily was the chef, dancing around the kitchen while Isabella grated cheese and stirred the sauce. Laughter filled the apartment as they shared inside jokes and taste-tested every bite like it was a cooking competition.
Just as they were drying the dishes, Emily's phone buzzed.
She looked at the screen and gasped. "Oh my God."
"What?" Isabella asked.
"It's Peter! Remember Peter? My childhood friend from boarding school?"
Isabella tilted her head. "The one who used to steal your snacks?"
Emily grinned. "The very one. He just sent me an invitation to a royal banquet tonight. Apparently, his uncle is some high-ranking diplomat and they're hosting this huge event. And guess what—he sent three invitations. Just in case I want to bring someone."
Isabella raised her hands. "No. Don't even think about it."
"Oh come on!"
"I don't have anything to wear. No fancy clothes. No designer shoes. No sparkling jewelry. I'll look like a servant."
Emily grabbed Isabella's hand. "Please. Peter and I go way back. He wouldn't invite me if it wasn't safe. Plus, it's a royal banquet, Isa. You can't say no to royalty."
"I can and I will."
But Emily was already grabbing her car keys. "Get dressed. We're going shopping."
They drove to Maison d'Étoile, one of the most expensive and exclusive clothing brands in the city. The boutique itself looked like a castle of glass and gold, with mannequins dressed in silk gowns and velvet suits standing like royalty behind the windows.
Inside, the store attendants welcomed them with smiles and led them to the VIP section. Dresses glittered under the golden lights, delicate fabrics whispering secrets of elegance and luxury.
Emily chose a fiery red gown with a deep neckline and gold embroidery that hugged her waist and flared at the knees. Isabella hesitated before selecting a white satin dress with a low back, a thigh-high slit, and thin straps that revealed her delicate collarbones.
The attendant helped them try the outfits on, and when Isabella stepped out of the dressing room, the entire boutique paused.
Her beauty was impossible to ignore. Her skin, pale and luminous like porcelain, glowed under the lights. Her thick brown hair fell in soft waves down her back, brushing the open cut of the dress. Her hazel eyes sparkled beneath long lashes, lips full and natural, curved like temptation.
The white satin dress kissed her hips like it was sewn by moonlight itself. The slit revealed just enough thigh to tease but not scandalize. Her neckline shimmered with every breath she took.
Even Emily blinked and said, "Wow. Isa… you look like you were born for royalty."
Isabella blushed. "You look gorgeous too."
Emily rolled her eyes playfully. "Don't lie to me. I'm pretty, sure. But you? You're otherworldly."
They bought shoes—silver stilettos for Isabella, red heels for Emily. Then they picked bags to match and headed to the spa.
There, they were pampered like queens. Nails done in elegant colors, eyebrows shaped, lashes curled. Their hair was washed, blow-dried, and styled—Emily's in bouncy waves, Isabella's left flowing and free. They received gentle body massages with lavender oils, soaking in the quiet luxury of it all.
By the time they got home, it was already 6:30 PM. The event started at 8:30 PM.
They spent an hour and a half choosing accessories, deciding on makeup looks, and helping each other into their gowns. Isabella wore simple diamond earrings and a thin silver chain that rested against her collarbone. Emily opted for gold hoops and a matching clutch.
They placed the invitation cards carefully inside their bags and stepped into the car at 8:45 PM, fashionably late.
By the time they arrived at the royal banquet hall at 9:00 PM, the event was in full swing. The building itself shimmered under chandeliers and fairy lights, music playing softly from a live orchestra in the corner.
But as soon as Isabella stepped through the doors, the room hushed.
All eyes turned to her.
Whispers began. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. The scent of her perfume, soft and alluring, floated through the air like a secret.
Emily walked beside her, proud and glowing, not with jealousy but with joy. She saw the way people looked at Isabella—not just men, but women too. She was impossible to ignore, like a living painting walking into a museum full of amateurs.
They climbed the marble steps into the main ballroom, invitation cards held delicately in their hands, unaware that someone… someone hidden in the shadows had already spotted Isabella. Watching. Waiting.
And smiling.