Ace Harlan stepped through the wide glass doors of the Metropolitan Gallery, the cool evening air giving way to the hum of chatter and soft jazz spilling from hidden speakers. Four years had carved deeper lines into his face, promotion to battalion chief weighing on his shoulders like invisible turnout gear, but tonight he wore a crisp black suit that hugged his broad frame, tie loosened just enough to breathe. The space was alive with polished crowds: art lovers in sleek dresses, critics with notebooks, lights casting warm glows on massive canvases exploding in color and chaos. He clutched his ticket tight, bought on impulse after that TV segment stirred old flames, telling himself it was curiosity, not the gnawing want that still woke him hard and aching in the dead of night.
He moved through the throng like a ghost, eyes scanning without stopping, heart thudding louder than the music. Whispers followed him—recognition from scandals past, the playboy chief who'd burned through marriages and hookups like kindling—but he ignored them. The gallery smelled of fresh paint and expensive perfume, walls lined with Dani's work: fiery abstracts twisting into human forms, cityscapes bleeding neon, every brushstroke screaming passion he remembered all too well. Ace paused at one piece, flames curling into a silhouette that looked too much like a man carrying another from smoke, and his throat tightened.
Then he saw him. Dani Voss, radiant under a spotlight near the center wall, hair loose in dark waves that caught the light like silk. He wore a fitted black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to show slim forearms stacked with silver cuffs, pants tailored sharp over long legs. Beauty hit Ace like a hose blast: delicate features sharper with time, eyes sparkling as he laughed with admirers, confidence blooming into something magnetic. Dani gestured to a canvas, voice carrying soft and animated, every movement fluid and alive. Ace's chest squeezed, desire roaring back fierce and familiar, hot between his legs, urging him forward.
He wanted to cross the room, wanted to say something stupid like "hey, remember me" or "you look incredible," wanted to feel that electric pull up close again. But shame rooted him in place, thick and choking. Four years of running from himself, of burying the truth in women and work, of waking from dreams where Dani's body pressed against his in burning buildings. Ashamed of the want that never faded, the sanity he'd clawed back only to feel it slip now. Scared of what one word from Dani might unleash. Ace stayed in the shadows, fists clenched at his sides, watching like a thief.
Everything shifted when a man approached Dani from behind, tall and handsome with chiseled features, dark curls, a suit that screamed money and ease. He wrapped one arm around Dani's waist, leaned in to press a lingering kiss to his cheek, lips brushing close enough to whisper something that made Dani's eyes crinkle with a smile. The crowd around them cooed, glasses clinking in quiet cheers. Ace's blood turned to ice, jealousy twisting sharp in his gut like a blade.
Dani turned slightly, hand resting on the man's chest, voice clear and warm as it carried across the room. "Everyone, this is Frederick, my fiancé."
The words landed like a collapsing roof, shock ripping through Ace hot and devastating. Fiancé. The ring on Dani's finger glinted under the lights, simple silver band that screamed commitment. Ace's world blurred, chest caving in with hurt he had no right to feel. Four years, and Dani had moved on, found someone worthy, someone unafraid. Jealousy burned brighter, visions flashing: Frederick's hands on Dani's skin, lips claiming what Ace had craved but fled. Devastated, gutted, he turned on his heel, shoulders hunched, pushing toward the exit before the pain swallowed him whole.
"Ace!"
The voice cut through the murmur, clear and surprised. Dani's voice. Calling his name.
Ace froze mid-step, heart slamming wild against his ribs.