Chapter One:
(Chloe's POV)
The gala glittered like a dream I didn't belong to. Gold chandeliers, glass laughter, designer perfume all of it swirling around me while I tried not to spill champagne on someone worth more than my future.
I'd been dreaming of places like this my whole life not to serve in them, but to belong. To see my own designs on the runway, my sketches came to life in silk and sequins. But art school didn't pay the bills, and dreams didn't buy groceries.
So I smiled and kept walking.
My wrist hurt from carrying the tray, but I smiled anyway. People didn't see servers. They saw the reflection of their own success in the crystal glasses we held.
I moved between the tables, memorizing dresses and sketching them in my head. Lace. Silk. A neckline that could change an entire mood. I was supposed to study for my design final tonight, but rent was louder than ambition.
I'd spent the entire evening pretending to be invisible.
Until I wasn't.
It happened in an instant, a flash of motion, a sharp inhale, and the unmistakable crash of glass. Bubbles spilled across the floor and onto the crisp lapel of a dark tuxedo.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry!" My voice broke out before I even looked up.
Then I did. And forgot to breathe.
The man staring down at me looked as though he didn't quite belong to this noisy, glittering world either. His posture was effortless power, tall and composed, a quiet danger in his stillness. But his eyes… grey, steady, cutting they were the kind that could read a person before she even spoke.
"It's alright," he said, voice low, smooth, with a trace of something wry. "I've survived worse than champagne."
The corner of his mouth twitched a hint of humor, not anger. That alone was shocking.
"I can get a towel, or…."
"Don't." He took the napkin gently from my hand. "You'll hurt yourself. Glass splinters."
That caught me off, guard. Most men here wouldn't notice if I bled on their shoes.
"Still," I said softly, watching him dab at his jacket, "I ruined your suit."
He shrugged, unbothered. "It's just fabric." His gaze lifted. "You look more upset than I do."
I laughed under my breath small and embarrassed. "You're the first person to tell me that tonight."
"Maybe I'm the first one to mean it."
That shouldn't have made my stomach twist the way it did. But it did.
He handed back the napkin, his fingertips brushing mine. Warm. Intentional.
Before I could think of anything else to say, someone called my name from across the room the head caterer's sharp tone slicing through the moment.
"I should…."
"Go," he said quietly, but there was something in his eyes that made me linger for half a heartbeat longer before I turned away.
When I dared glance back, he was still watching me.
By the time the gala ended, my feet throbbed and my cheeks ached from smiling. The rain outside came down in silver sheets, drumming against the pavement as guests rushed into limousines. I stepped out into the night air, shoes in hand, exhaustion wrapping around me like fog.
The last bus had already left. I stood there, staring at the empty street, debating whether to walk the six blocks in heels or barefoot.
Need a ride?"
I froze. That voice again deep, smooth, unmistakable.
He stood at the bottom of the steps, umbrella tilted, rain cascading off its edges. His jacket was gone now, shirt collar undone, hair slightly damp. Somehow, he looked more real like this.
"I can't accept that," I said quickly. "You've had enough of me tonight."
His lips curved. "Maybe not enough."
I should've walked away. But exhaustion and something else curiosity, maybe held me there.
"It's just to the main road," he added, as though sensing my hesitation. "You shouldn't walk alone in this weather."
So I nodded and followed him.
The car was black, sleek, silent. The kind that smelled faintly of leather and control.
He opened the door for me, and the warmth inside wrapped around me like a sigh.
For a while, we drove in silence. Rain tapped against the glass in a steady rhythm.
He then offered me a glass of champagne I wanted to say no but I didn't for some reason
He glanced over, a faint smile ghosting his lips. "At the gala. You looked like someone standing behind glass, watching her own life happen."
"That's… oddly specific."
"It's true though, isn't it?"
I looked out the window, watching raindrops chase each other down the glass. "Maybe I just don't belong in rooms like that."
"You don't seem the type to care about belonging."
I let out a soft laugh. "That's because I've never had the luxury of choosing where I belong."
He was quiet for a beat, then said, "Neither have I."
That surprised me. Men like him like the expensive watch, the quiet authority they were born into belonging.
"You?" I asked.
His fingers flexed slightly on the wheel. "My father built something from nothing. Then he died. Everyone expects me to keep building it, but… no one ever asks if I want to."
His words came out like a confession he hadn't meant to make.
For a moment, the air between us felt heavy with things unspoken.
The rain began to pour even more
He suggested we stay at a hotel nearby due to the rain
We walked inside without speaking. The elevator doors closed, and I could hear my heartbeat louder than the hum of the machine.
We were both intoxicated, but still conscious.
He then reached over and brushed a raindrop from my hair, I didn't pull away.
It felt like the world paused. Like it was waiting for something to happen.
Then he leaned closer.
The kiss was slow, hesitant, and yet I felt my whole body react. It wasn't planned. It wasn't smart. But it was real.
When I woke, sunlight cut through the curtains. My head throbbed. The sheets beside me were cold.
Roy was gone.
No note. No number. No trace.
For a second, I thought maybe I'd imagined it all the gala, the drive, the way he said my name. But the scent on the pillow and the ache in my chest said otherwise.
I sat there for a long time, staring at the space where he'd been.
Used. That's how it felt.
I told myself it didn't matter. That one night didn't define me. That people like him and me lived in different worlds, and I'd been foolish to forget that.
"Forget it," I whispered to the room. "Forget him."
But when I bent to pick up my shoes, something metallic glinted under the bed.
A cufflink glinted on the carpet silver, custom-made, the engraved Titan Holdings catching the morning light like a secret.
I turned it over in my palm.
The name felt familiar, though I couldn't place it.
Maybe it didn't matter. I slipped it into my pocket anyway.