The city sparkled like shattered glass beneath a midnight sky. Neon signs bled color onto rain-slicked streets, and somewhere in the heart of Verona Heights, Ria stood outside *Velvet*, the most exclusive rooftop lounge in the district—dressed in borrowed heels and a dress that felt too tight around her chest.
She wasn't supposed to be here.
But Maya had insisted. "You need to get out," her roommate had said. "You've been buried in law books for two years. You're twenty-four—live a little."
So here she was, clutching her clutch like a life raft, heart thumping as bouncers scanned guest lists under red floodlights.
"Name?" one asked.
"R-Ria Carter," she stammered.
He checked the tablet and stepped aside with a nod. "Go ahead."
The elevator ride up was silent except for soft jazz echoing through hidden speakers. When the doors slid open, warmth rushed over her skin—a mix of golden lighting, low chatter, expensive cologne… and possibility.
Velvet lived up to its name: plush velvet booths curved around an infinity pool glowing turquoise under ambient lights; waiters glided past with champagne towers balanced on trays like trophies; laughter bubbled above smooth electronic beats pulsing through invisible speakers.
Ria took it all in—this world so far from hers—the daughter who'd worked double shifts at coffee shops just to afford textbooks—and for a moment felt utterly out of place.
Then she saw him.
Across the room near an open balcony stood *him*—a man who looked like he'd been carved from luxury itself. Six-foot-three if he was an inch. Black tailored suit hugging broad shoulders like poetry written on fabric. Silver watch catching light every time his hand moved toward his whiskey glass (neat). Dark hair swept back sharply—but softened slightly at the temples by wind or nerves or something human beneath that polish.*
And those eyes?
Deep green-gray—like storm chasing sunlight—and locked directly onto hers across twenty feet of strangers dancing too close together under stars they couldn't reach anyway because no amount didn't matter when you could buy your own constellation?
Wait... did he just *smile?*
No—not full lips parting—but something subtle near one corner that made her pulse jump anyway before logic crashed back into reality:
*He can't possibly be looking at me.*
But then—he raised his glass slightly toward her direction as if sealing some unspoken deal between fate and foolishness…
And walked over.
---
"Can I buy you a drink?" His voice was calm but firm—a melody laced with quiet charm rather than arrogance despite how clearly everyone else seemed aware he owned this place without even needing words.*
"I—I don't usually…" She stopped herself mid-excuse before realizing how ridiculous she sounded being shy now after surviving bar exams by memorizing five hundred pages worth case law arguments alone during finals week without sleep.*
"You don't have to say yes." He tilted his head slightly—it almost looked amused but not mocking." I'm Aris Thorne."
Recognition hit faster than caffeine on empty stomachs."Thorne Industries? The AI guy—the startup billionaire who sold out last year?"
One eyebrow lifted.* "I see my reputation precedes me again." A slow smile finally touched both corners this time."But tonight—I'm just Aris."
"Well then… just Aris…" She exhaled,*trying not lose composure though there were butterflies fighting inside ribcage right now,* "…you can call me Ria.
They talked more than either expected.*
Not about mergers or money or artificial neural networks—but books (she loved Murakami), music (he played piano when stressed), cities they'd never visited (she wanted Kyoto; he wanted Patagonia).
Time slipped away unnoticed until someone dropped their glass behind them with dramatic clatter making both flinch only for Aris laugh lightly turning fully toward while saying,*"Guess even perfect nights come with cracks."
She laughed too—one real genuine burst escaping past nerves holding guard since arrival earlier evening—
And that's when everything changed ever so subtly...
Because suddenly—he wasn't simply flirting anymore—he watching look appear face whenever mentioned family home country Morocco where grew up briefly father diplomat mother artist died young still kept sketches drawers closet bedroom mansion outside town limits people only dream visiting much less seeing inside—
There was depth behind green eyes—not performance charm worn effortlessly cool guys rich ones often did fake emotional intimacy order gain trust control situations always won regardless cost anyone else involved…
This man? Felt different somehow already dangerous ways didn't scare instead intrigued completely opposite effect intended probably…
"I should go," she said eventually glancing phone seeing nearly 2AM blinked pale screen though club showed no signs slowing down yet night barely middle unfolding across city skyline beyond railing steps away…"
Aris nodded, something unreadable passing briefly across his face before he replied. "Right. It's getting late." He stepped back, creating some distance between them, but his tone was still warm. "I hope I didn't bore you with my talk about Morocco."
Ria shook her head, a small smile on her lips. "No, it was... refreshing. Most people I've met lately just talk about work, or about themselves."
Oh really?... He chuckled
Come here..