The morning sun poured softly through sheer floral curtains in Aurora's apartment, a cozy second-floor space nestled in the artsy neighborhood of Echo Park. The place was a boho-girly dream: soft pink and cream tones mixed with gold accents, thrifted wall art, dried flowers hanging from copper hooks, and a splash of Aurora's own abstract pieces framed on every wall. Plush rugs layered the hardwood floor, and scattered throw pillows in blush and velvet hues gave every corner a relaxed charm.
In the open kitchen, Aurora was fluttering around like a caffeinated hummingbird whipping together a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast with strawberry preserves, and warm vanilla oat milk lattes.
"I swear, this stove's got a grudge against me," she muttered, flipping eggs with dramatic flair.
"Try whispering sweet nothings to it," Chloe teased from the dining table, legs crossed, her phone lighting up nonstop.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Aurora turned with a grin. "Please tell me Emery hasn't broken your screen with all that texting."
Chloe smiled, eyes glued to her phone. "He sent a meme of a cat modeling furniture. Then he apologized for spamming me. Then he sent a voice note about our project and another meme."
"Ah," Sophia's voice chimed from the hallway. "So we've entered the 'good morning meme phase.' That's serious."
Sophia strolled into the room, looking effortlessly chill in loose joggers and a faded vintage tee. Her hair was tied into a curly bun, and she wore fluffy slippers shaped like kittens.
"Coffee?" she asked, plopping into the chair beside Chloe.
"Already laced with love," Aurora said, handing her a mug.
The three of them sat around the table, steam rising between them, the kitchen filled with the soft clink of cutlery and laughter.
"So what's on everyone's calendar today?" Sophia asked, slicing into her toast.
"I've got a project meeting with Emery," Chloe said, trying to sound casual. "We're meeting at the library around noon. It's a branding assignment for one of our design courses."
"Oh, the kind of project where you 'accidentally' wear your best top and act surprised he notices," Sophia smirked.
"Shut up," Chloe grinned. "It's just class stuff."
"You're glowing," Aurora noted.
"I'm warm from the latte."
"Mmhmm," both women said in unison.
Aurora took a sip of hers, checking her phone. "I've got an art piece delivery in West Hollywood around eleven. Then, I just got a message from Mrs. Charlotte O'Brien. She wants me to stop by this afternoon."
"Ohhh," Sophia sang. "More art-world royalty."
"She's kind," Aurora said. "Intense, but in a good way."
Sophia raised her cup. "May your creativity be funded."
Everyone clinked mugs.
"And you, Miss Wells?" Chloe asked. "Big plans?"
"I'm home until noon," Sophia replied. "Then errands. Groceries, laundry, maybe finally fixing the cabinet that bit me last week."
Aurora laughed. "That cabinet's been asking for it."
As the table exploded into more teasing and giggles, the morning drifted on light, silly, and secure.
But elsewhere in the city, the mood was a little different.
Meanwhile at Jalen's Penthouse later that Morning...
Sunlight spilled across the sleek marble floor of Jalen's high-rise penthouse. The group had gathered again Jalen, Jeremy, Collins, and Derek but this time, it wasn't business.
The invitation list for The Midnight Reverie had been finalized and sent out: a carefully curated guest list of LA's most influential creatives, art patrons, models, producers, and just enough unknowns to make it feel exclusive.
The group sat around Jalen's custom glass bar, sipping from a bottle of Château Lafite Rothschild 2005, one of the world's most elegant red wines rich, deep, and smooth as silk. It matched the mood perfectly.
"To the madness ahead," Jeremy said, raising his glass.
"To silk sheets, moonlit scandals, and no press coverage," Collins added.
"To champagne-soaked regrets," Derek grinned.
Jalen chuckled, his glass raised but not yet sipped. "To a night they'll never forget."
They drank, the silence that followed filled with warm red velvet flavor and the luxury of certainty.
Collins leaned back. "The way these RSVPs are coming in, people think this is the Oscars pre-party."
"Because it basically is," Jeremy said. "You're Jalen Harris, man. Throwing a party is your version of a royal decree."
Jalen smirked. "Let's make it count then."
Derek set his glass down. "By the way, I ran into Emery this morning. He's in. Wants to bring a plus-one."
"Oh?" Jeremy asked.
"Didn't say who."
Collins looked at Jalen. "You good?"
Jalen nodded. But that lingering tension behind his eyes? Still there.
Laughter from their toast still lingered in the air when Jeremy leaned forward, swirling the deep red liquid in his glass.
"Alright, gentlemen," he said with a glint in his eye, "serious question. Who's everyone bringing as their plus-one to The Midnight Reverie?"
Collins laughed, tossing a few grapes into his mouth from a gold-rimmed crystal bowl. "I'm flying solo, man. Last time I brought someone to one of Jalen's parties, she fell in love with the damn wine list and ghosted me for a sommelier."
The room chuckled.
Before Jalen could speak, Derek leaned forward with a sly grin. "Jalen? Easy. Kate, of course. Who else?"
Jalen didn't flinch, but the look he gave Derek cool, unreadable, and edged in warning spoke volumes.
"You never can tell," he said calmly, sipping from his glass.
Jeremy raised an eyebrow. "Is that code for I haven't decided yet or it's complicated?"
Jalen shrugged, but said nothing more.
Derek smirked and turned his attention to Jeremy. "What about you, Mr. Velvet Room himself? Gotta be someone who can keep up with your nightlife stamina."
Jeremy leaned back in his seat, tapping his fingers lightly on his glass. "I might bring Sierra Blake."
The name dropped like a gentle wave across the room.
All three guys gave him the same response at once: "Hmmmm."
Sierra was a well-known rising jazz vocalist gorgeous, mysterious, and known for her elusive romances with LA's most powerful creatives.
Jeremy smirked. "Relax. She's not a girlfriend. Just... curated company."
"Sure," Collins said with a grin. "You bring her to one more party and she's going to start picking out baby names."
"Noted," Jeremy replied dryly.
Derek sat forward and raised his glass. "Well, since we're all being transparent, I'm bringing Tanisha O'Neil."
That got a whistle from Jeremy.
"Miss Beauty Queen turned startup investor?" Collins asked.
Derek grinned. "The one and only. She's smart, fine, and makes a five-figure return before lunch."
"Impressive," Jalen said, raising his glass.
"And on that classy note," Derek said, standing and fixing his jacket, "I'm heading out."
"Where to?" Jeremy asked.
Derek checked his Rolex. "Mum's having a meeting at home this afternoon and asked me to join some artist she's mentoring. Thought I'd sit in, charm the talent, act interested."
Collins chuckled. "You? Interested in art?"
"I said act interested," Derek replied as he walked to the door. "See you boys at the party."
As the door clicked behind him, the mood shifted just slightly more relaxed, more reflective.
But Jalen… he sat there, glass still half full, gaze turned to the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Because while everyone else had picked their companion for the night, the one person he wanted to bring was still a question even he couldn't answer.
The sky had turned a soft silver-blue by the time Aurora wheeled the final crate into the art gallery in West Hollywood. The morning's delivery had gone smoother than expected, and she was wiping her brow with a paint-stained rag when her phone buzzed in her back pocket.
Mrs. Charlotte O'brien.
Aurora picked up quickly.
"Hello, Mrs. O'Brien."
"Aurora, darling! I was just checking have you finished with your delivery?"
"Just now, actually."
"Perfect," Charlotte chimed. "Stay right where you are. I'll send my driver to come collect you."
Aurora blinked. "You really don't have to..."
"Don't argue. He'll be there in fifteen."
Click.
Exactly fifteen minutes later, a Rolls-royce Ghost pulled smoothly up to the curb, the paint a shimmering midnight blue with silver detailing. The tinted windows slid down to reveal the O'Brien family crest subtly embroidered into the leather interior.
Aurora stood in awe for a second before the chauffeur stepped out, dressed in a charcoal uniform with white gloves.
"Miss Thompson," he greeted with a bow of the head. "Mrs. O'Brien is expecting you."
The ride to the O'brien Mansion was quiet, filled with the scent of clean leather and lavender oil mist from the subtle in-car diffuser. Aurora watched as neighborhoods faded into private hills and large iron gates welcomed her into a world of marble driveways and manicured perfection.
Once inside the estate, she was greeted by a line of staff members and led down a long corridor adorned with antique mirrors and fresh arrangements of peonies, orchids, and calla lilies.
Mrs. Charlotte O'brien, poised and radiant in a pale blush blouse and flowing cream trousers, was seated in the sunroom, her favorite spot in the house. The glass walls cast soft golden light onto the garden outside.
"Aurora, darling," Charlotte said, rising and embracing her warmly. "You look like spring itself."
"And you look like summer in Paris," Aurora smiled.
They sat across from each other as a delicate tea service was brought in fine bone china painted with violets and gold trim. The tea was Jasmine Dragon Pearls, loose-leaf, with hints of vanilla and lemongrass, served with honey and lemon slices on a crystal tray.
They talked about art, philosophy, the emotion behind brush strokes and color theory. Aurora felt seen in a way she hadn't in a long time.
After the third cup, Charlotte rose.
"Come," she said. "You haven't truly visited until you've seen my collection."
They were joined by Mr. Dennis, Charlotte's favorite butler a tall, elegant man with silver hair and a crisp accent, whose knowledge of art rivaled most curators.
Together, they strolled through marble halls where Charlotte showcased her collection pieces from France, Nigeria, Japan, and Argentina. Aurora gasped softly at several familiar masterpieces, including a rare Nneka Aboh abstract and a suspended sculpture from Northern Italy.
Eventually, the tour led them into the heart of the estate the O'brien Garden.
It was breathtaking.
Rows of climbing roses in crimson and lavender, star-shaped jasmine, and irises in shades of sapphire and gold filled the winding stone pathways. Wisteria Vines curled around arched trellises, dripping like lilac chandeliers. Sculptures of winged figures, frozen in graceful movement, stood like silent guardians among the floral brilliance.
"This is where I come when I need peace," Charlotte said. "I find flowers understand emotion better than people do."
Aurora smiled, her eyes wide with wonder.
And then...
"Mum!"
A deep voice called from behind.
They both turned as Derek O'brien approached, his stride easy and confident, his tailored slacks swapped for soft linen joggers and a navy Henley shirt that still somehow looked designer.
Charlotte greeted him with a warm hug. "You're just in time."
Derek offered Aurora a nod and extended his hand. "Miss Thompson."
She accepted it, cool but polite.
"You're the young lady from the club the other night, aren't you?"
Aurora's composure faltered slightly, but she nodded. "Yes. That was me."
Derek smiled, half amused, half curious. "Thought so. I never forget a face."
He leaned down to kiss his mother's cheek again. "I'll freshen up and change into something less formal. You ladies carry on."
As he disappeared into the estate, Charlotte turned to Aurora with a soft smile.
"He's uninterested in art, I'm afraid. But he's doing a fine job running the whiskey brand his father left behind O'Brien Cask Reserve. Finest in Europe, aged over two decades, and stocked in every private club worth its price tag."
Aurora smiled, but her mind was still humming from Derek's comment.
Charlotte noticed.
"What did he mean, 'the girl from the other night'?"
There was a pause.
Long enough to say everything.
Aurora looked away briefly.
And said nothing.