The city didn't glitter; it smoldered.Neon lights bled into the wet pavement, turning every shadow into a half-kept secret. Downtown, the gala hall was a cathedral of money—marble floors, black suits, champagne flutes that cost more than rent.
Mara Duval adjusted the collar of her black uniform and tried not to stare too long. She wasn't here to belong. She was here to work. Keep eyes sharp. Keep her head low. But the way people here floated through the room, like smoke wrapped in silk, made something in her want to breathe it in.
"Duval," her supervisor hissed behind her. "Eyes up. Guests, not chandeliers."
She nodded, flushed, and straightened. Her job was simple: observe, report, keep trouble from finding the door. What they didn't say was that sometimes, trouble wore a perfect suit and smiled like sin.
And that's exactly what walked through the doors at 21:06.
Elias Vance.His name moved through the room before he did—soft whispers, sharp stares. The kind of presence that didn't have to be loud. Dark tailored suit, unbothered confidence, and eyes that looked like they had already calculated the end of the night.
Mara told herself not to look.But when his gaze swept the room and caught hers—just for a breath too long—it was like being pulled into the eye of a quiet storm.
She snapped her attention away, heat creeping up the back of her neck. This man was not for her world. He wasn't even on the same map. But something in that look felt like he saw her, not just the uniform.
The rest of the night blurred into movement and murmurs. Waiters weaving through silk dresses, deals whispered behind champagne glasses. But every few minutes, she'd feel it—that weight. His eyes. Not constant, not obvious. Like the flicker of a match in a dark room. Just enough to make her heartbeat stumble.
It wasn't until the last hour of her shift that he walked straight toward her.Slow. Measured. Dangerous.
"First time working here?" His voice was low, smooth, unhurried.Mara's throat tightened. "Yes, sir."
"You watch the room too closely," he said. "That's not part of the job description."
"I'm… good at observing."
"Good," he murmured. "Keep watching."
And then he brushed past her, leaving a current in the air that didn't fade.
She shouldn't have liked it. She shouldn't have noticed the faint cologne—warm, woodsy, expensive. She shouldn't have wondered why someone like him would even look at her.
But she did. And in that moment, something unspoken cracked open.A door. A warning. A beginning.