Chapter 1 – The Encounter
Amara adjusted the strap of her borrowed dress for the third time, her fingers fidgeting nervously. She had never seen so many chandeliers in one room, their crystal drops scattering light across gowns worth more than her monthly rent. The charity gala was a far cry from her tiny apartment above the bookstore where she worked, but her best friend, Leila, had insisted she come.
"You can't hide behind canvases forever," Leila had said, pressing the ivory invitation into Amara's hand earlier that week.
Now, standing by the edge of the grand ballroom, Amara felt like a fraud. She sipped sparkling water, pretending to be fascinated by the marble columns and the string quartet playing in the corner. In truth, she was watching people—women in flowing gowns that shimmered under the lights, men in tuxedos discussing stock markets and mergers. Everyone seemed to glide effortlessly, as though this glittering world belonged to them.
Her simple navy dress, though modestly elegant, clung in ways she found awkward. The secondhand heels she'd found at a thrift shop pinched her toes with every step. She told herself she was here only for one night, to experience something out of reach, and then she'd slip back into her quiet life and then she saw him, Damien Cole.
Even she, who barely glanced at financial news, knew his name. Billionaire investor. Real estate mogul. Ruthless negotiator. The kind of man people admired and feared in equal measure. He stood apart near the balcony doors, tall and commanding, his tailored suit a shade darker than midnight. In one hand, he held a glass of amber whiskey, the other tucked casually in his pocket. His expression was unreadable, carved from stone, but his eyes—dark, sharp—moved across the crowd with a predator's patience.
Amara told herself not to stare. Yet the more she tried, the more her gaze drifted back to him. His presence drew her, an invisible current she couldn't resist. And then it happened—his eyes found hers.
She froze. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and for one dizzying moment, she felt stripped bare. He wasn't just looking at her—he was seeing her, through the nerves, through the borrowed dress, to the girl who didn't belong
and then, to her shock, he began walking toward her.
Her breath caught. People seemed to part for him as though sensing his authority, as though the room shifted to make way. She thought about retreating, slipping away before he reached her, but her legs refused to move.
"Enjoying yourself?" His voice was smooth, low, carrying a weight that both unsettled and intrigued her.
She tightened her grip on the glass. "Trying to," she admitted, surprising even herself with her honesty.
His lips quirked, the faintest suggestion of a smile. "You're not from this circle."
The truth struck like a dart. "I—no. I'm not."
"Good," he said simply, as though it were an advantage rather than a flaw.
For a moment, she forgot how to breathe. No man had ever looked at her this way—not with pity, not with casual lust, but with curiosity. He seemed genuinely interested, and that alone disarmed her.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Amara," she whispered.
"Amara," he repeated slowly, tasting the syllables like a secret. "I'm Damien."
"I know," she said, the words slipping out before she could stop herself.
He chuckled at that, the sound low and unexpectedly warm. "At least you're honest."
Her nerves fluttered wildly. "I should let you get back to your evening—"
"I'd rather spend it with you," Damien interrupted smoothly, his eyes never leaving hers.
Her stomach flipped. This was madness. He was dangerous. Everything about him screamed of a world she couldn't touch without burning herself. And yet, when he extended a hand toward the balcony, she felt her own hand tremble with the urge to take it.
For a heartbeat, she hesitated. She thought of her ordinary life, of paintbrushes and quiet nights and safety. Then she looked into his eyes—steady, unwavering, promising something she had never dared imagine.
"Come," he said softly. "The city looks better from above."
And against every piece of logic, Amara slipped her hand into his.