The ballroom of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, New York, glowed with chandeliers dripping golden light over a sea of power. It was the kind of event Elena Carter never belonged to—wealthy CEOs, international investors, and fashionably dressed socialites, sipping champagne like it was water. She stood near the corner, clutching her sketchbook and portfolio tightly, her black dress elegant yet simple compared to the glittering gowns around her.
Her boss had insisted she attend. "One chance, Elena," he'd said. "If you land even one client tonight, we might be able to save the firm."
Her firm. The last lifeline keeping her family's debts from drowning them.
Elena inhaled deeply, forcing her nerves into submission. She was an interior designer, not a social climber. But tonight, she had to sell herself—not her soul, just her talent.
Across the room, laughter rolled like thunder. She followed the sound and saw him.
Alexander Knight.
Even from a distance, he radiated something more dangerous than charm—power. Tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp features carved as if by a sculptor, he stood surrounded by businessmen who leaned in like moths to his flame. His dark tailored suit fit like it had been stitched onto him, his presence commanding without effort. A single glance at his piercing gray eyes was enough to make most people look away.
Elena knew who he was. Everyone did. The billionaire CEO of Knight International, a ruthless tycoon who had built an empire across London, Dubai, and New York. The media painted him as cold, calculating, and untouchable.
And fate decided she was going to collide with him.
Literally.
As she tried to maneuver through the crowd, balancing her sketchbook and a glass of water, someone brushed past her shoulder, and the next thing she knew—she stumbled forward. Her water spilled, splashing across a man's suit jacket.
The man turned.
Her heart sank.
Gray eyes met hers, hard as steel, and she realized she had just drenched Alexander Knight.
Gasps rose around them. A few whispers followed:
"Is she insane?"
"That's Alexander Knight!"
"He'll destroy her."
Elena's face flushed crimson. "Oh my God—I am so, so sorry—" She grabbed a napkin from a waiter's tray and instinctively tried to dab the droplets from his jacket.
But his hand caught her wrist. Firm. Cold.
"That's enough," his deep voice rumbled, low and dangerous.
She froze. His eyes flickered down to her sketchbook, clutched against her chest, then back to her face. For a brief, shocking second, she thought she saw curiosity flash in his gaze.
"This suit costs more than what you make in a month," he said smoothly, his British accent crisp and cutting.
Elena's spine stiffened. She should've apologized again, bowed her head, and disappeared into the crowd. That's what everyone else did in front of Alexander Knight.
But she wasn't everyone else.
"Then perhaps you should spend less on suits and more on manners," she said before she could stop herself.
A hush fell. Conversations around them stilled.
Alexander's lips twitched—not quite a smile, not quite anger, but something darker. His grip loosened, and he stepped closer, invading her space without permission. "Do you always speak to powerful men this way?"
Elena's pulse quickened, but she forced her chin higher. "Only when they deserve it."
For a long, charged moment, their eyes locked. A silent battle of wills. She expected him to humiliate her, to have security drag her out.
Instead, Alexander leaned in, his voice so low only she could hear.
"Interesting."
And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing breathless, trembling, and utterly confused.
But what Elena didn't know was this: she hadn't just spilled water on the most dangerous man in the room.
She had just caught his attention.
And Alexander Knight was not a man who let go of things that intrigued him.