Gabriel Kane did not lose focus easily.
Yet two days after the gala, emerald green silk still interrupted his thoughts.
In meetings.
In traffic.
In silence.
It irritated him.
He remembered the exact shade of the dress. The clean line of her shoulders. The deliberate way she created space without appearing defensive. Most of all, he remembered her eyes — calm, assessing, unimpressed.
He had not introduced himself.
That, too, unsettled him.
Women usually approached. Or were introduced. Or ensured proximity. Camille Rowan had done none of those things.
She had simply existed.
By Thursday afternoon, a cancelled meeting left an hour open near the design district.
Gabriel told himself it was practical to walk instead of returning to the office.
He did not acknowledge that he had already asked, casually, who the woman in emerald silk had been.
Camille Rowan.
Owner of The Ivory Crown Studio.
Successful. Expanding. Selective clientele.
Interesting.
The glass façade of The Ivory Crown reflected the city in muted gold. The branding was understated — elegant serif lettering, clean interior lighting visible through the windows.
Refined.
He stepped inside.
The scent of expensive hair products and subtle florals met him first. The space was immaculate — ivory walls, gold accents, structured seating. Calm without sterility.
Behind the reception desk, an assistant greeted him.
"Good afternoon, sir. Do you have an appointment?"
"No," Gabriel replied evenly. "I'd like to make one."
His tone was measured. Controlled. He had negotiated billion-pound contracts with less internal disturbance than this simple request.
From the back of the studio, Camille emerged.
Black tailored trousers. Soft cream blouse. Braids pulled over one shoulder today, framing her face.
Professional. Composed. Untouched by the memory of emerald silk.
She paused when she saw him.
Recognition flickered — not excitement.
Awareness.
Gabriel felt it again — that quiet disruption beneath his ribs.
She walked forward with unhurried steps.
"Good afternoon," she said calmly. "How can we assist you?"
No indication she remembered the gala. No change in tone.
He studied her for a second longer than necessary.
"I believe," he said evenly, "I require your expertise."
A faint arch of her brow.
"My team is very capable," Camille replied. "What service are you interested in?"
Team.
Distance.
Boundary.
Gabriel almost smiled.
He had walked in expecting curiosity.
Instead, he was being processed like any other client.
For reasons he did not fully understand, that pleased him.
Because for the first time since the gala, the disturbance in his mind shifted into something else.
Engagement.
And Gabriel Kane rarely pursued anything that did not challenge him.