The evening felt like it had borrowed colors from a painting I once saw in a gallery—hazy purples melting into amber gold.

The wind tugged gently at the trees, and even the city lights looked a little kinder than usual. It was one of those rare nights that didn’t just happen—it arrived, like it had a purpose. Like it knew something was coming.

The venue stood ahead like a glass-stitched marvel—so polished it reflected not just our faces, but some piece of the night sky behind us.

I tried not to stare too much, but honestly... it was hard not to. The chandelier inside sparkled like it had been waiting all day to show off. And stepping in.. wow. Just, wow.

Golds and whites everywhere. Not in an over-the-top way, but in that old money kind of way—elegant, timeless. The tables looked like they were dressed for a wedding in heaven. Roses perfectly arranged, the ceiling so high it made my thoughts drift upwards without asking.

The smell of the food nearly broke my focus. Rich, sweet, savory... it was a full orchestra of temptation. And across from that—this stage, glowing gently under blue lights.

Reporters nearby whispered and clicked away like bees around a blossom. Everything felt so alive.

Dad led, always the one who looked like he belonged in every powerful room. That black suit on him fit like second skin. Strong. Simple. Absolute.

And Mom—grace in motion. Her gown didn’t need sequins or shimmer. It was the deep part of the ocean no one dares disturb. Her every step was confident and quiet, and yet, every pair of eyes turned toward her.

I followed, a little slower maybe, but steady. My suit was sharp, a charcoal tone to match the elegance, and the maroon tie. My hair was finally behaving for once, and my shoes tapped softly against the marble.

And my beautiful sissy. She moved like silk. The cream dress she wore caught the light in all the right places, delicate and soft like the smile she gave to strangers. Her gown whispered with every step. She didn’t need a spotlight. She was one.

As we walked in, the voices dimmed, just slightly. The music floated somewhere above us. The camera flashes flared, and I swear, for one heartbeat, everything felt cinematic. Like this was the beginning of something I’d remember for years.

And maybe it was.
Because even with all the grace and calm we wore tonight, this—this was new.

It was the first time I’d ever stepped into a world like this. Where every glance was measured, where cameras didn’t just click—they judged. It wasn’t just me either. I could tell by the way Mom’s fingers curled a little tighter around her clutch, or how sissy's eyes flickered slightly every time the flash popped.

We weren't used to this kind of spotlight. Our lives had always been softer, more tucked away. Mom’s strength usually lived in quiet rooms. Sissy's glow was best seen in the café, with the smell of cinnamon and the sound of coffee cups.

And me? I was just the boy who laughed too loud in libraries and accidentally wore two different socks to class.

“Arlo!” Peter uncle’s voice cut through the noise of the grand hall just as we entered, warm and familiar.

Dad turned toward him, a rare lightness in his voice. “Hey, Peter!” he called back, and they embraced like old friends who hadn't seen each other in years.

I stayed quiet, just watching them.

“It’s been too long,” Uncle Peter said, stepping back with a wide grin. “Still the same Arlo, always sharp and on time for these things.”

Dad chuckled. “And you’re still the same Peter, always the life of the party.”

Beside him, Mom let out a soft laugh and rested a hand on Dad’s arm. “It’s good to see you, Peter. And where’s Stacy? I’ve missed her.”

“She’s with Alex. They’re somewhere near the refreshments,” Peter uncle said, gesturing across the hall before turning to us. “But hold on, let me have a look at these kids first. Marco, Aria, come here!”

I stepped forward with a smile and shook his hand before pulling him into a quick hug. “Uncle Peter, it’s been ages. How are you?”

He sighed with exaggerated drama. “Old.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that.

Sissy followed me, her voice soft and polite like always. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

His expression shifted into something warmer as he looked at her. “Aria, you’ve turned into such a beautiful young lady. Your father must be proud.”

Aria smiled gently. “Thank you.”

Uncle Peter motioned for us to follow. “Well, let’s not stand here all night. Come, I’ll take you to Stacy and Alex.”

We followed him through the crowd, the gentle hum of conversation filling the air as we moved. Every step brought us closer to a part of this world that still felt unfamiliar to me—powerful people, flashing cameras, whispers, elegance.

Then I saw Aunt Stacy.

Her face lit up the second she saw us, her joy real and warm. “Sofia!” she called, and Mom went straight into her arms for a hug.

“Stacy, you look amazing,” Mom said, smiling as they stepped back.

“Thank you, dear. And you! Always so effortlessly elegant.” Then Aunt Stacy’s eyes fell on me. “Oh my, Marco, you’ve grown into such a handsome young man.”

I smiled politely, trying not to get awkward. “Thank you, Aunt. You look lovely as always.”

She turned to sissy, taking her hands with a sparkle in her eyes. “And Aria... you’re absolutely radiant tonight. That gown is beautiful.”

Sissy blushed slightly, lowering her gaze. “Thank you.”

After a few minutes of catching up, Uncle Peter and the rest of the grown-ups floated off like fancy parade balloons, all smiles and glittery charm, it was just us ‘kids’ left behind.

Okay, fine, we're not kids anymore, but come on, that’s how they always treat us, right? Anyway, the second they were out of sight, I turned to Brother Alex with the biggest grin my cheeks could hold and practically tackled him in a hug.

“Brother!” I beamed, squeezing him like a teddy bear I hadn't seen in years. “It’s so good to see you! You’ve changed a lot—more jawline, more CEO vibes, and no more teenage pimples. I mean, wow.”

He laughed—that rich, warm kind of laugh that always made me feel ten times lighter—and gave me a once-over. “And you’ve grown up so tall! Look at you, Marco. You’re looking sharp tonight.”

I pretended to flick imaginary dust off my maroon tie and gave him my cheeky side-eye. “You’re no less, brother.”

Then I leaned in a little, grinning wider. “So. CEO, huh?” I nudged him with my elbow. “I’m so happy for you, truly. You deserve it. I know how hard you’ve worked. Just don’t let the power make your hair all weird and stiff like those old guys, okay?”

He laughed again and patted my shoulder. “Thanks, Marco. That means a lot. But enough about me. Tell me, what’s new with you?”

I held up a finger like I was about to reveal a state secret. “Well… I totally flunked my economics quiz last week but aced my film critique class. So I think the universe is telling me to marry rich and focus on aesthetics.”

We both burst out laughing. Sissy giggled too.

But just as I was about to make another dramatic joke about my ‘tragic life as a misunderstood genius,’ something—or rather someone—caught my eye from across the room.

I didn’t even realize I was staring until I heard the softest little “Hmm?” from beside me. I turned and saw my sissy giving me that look. You know—the one with the slightly raised brow and the subtle side-eye that says, 'Marco. Seriously?' Ugh. Busted.

I gave her my best pleading puppy eyes, hands folded in silent begging. She exhaled, lips twitching in a smile, and then she nodded.

Bless her.

I gave her a grateful wink and turned back to brother, giving his shoulder a quick pat. “I’ll catch up with you later, brother,” I whispered like I was going on a mission. Because I was.

He looked mildly confused as I slid away into the ocean of glittering gowns and polished shoes. “Where’s he off to in such a hurry?” I heard him asking.

Sissy’s voice, calm and amused, floated behind me. “Marco’s always got his own plans, doesn’t he?”

Darn right I do, sissy. And tonight, this mischievous little heart of mine might just find something worth chasing in this crowd of powerful people and flashing cameras. I was grinning so wide, probably looking like a total dork, but I just couldn’t help it.

Meeting him was like, the biggest deal ever!

I dodged through the crowd, trying to look cool but inside I was a giggly mess. I nodded at a few people but honestly? My eyes were glued to that tall figure near the bar.

He stood so tall and serious, wearing that perfect suit—like he owned the whole place. His shoulders looked super intimidating, and he was chatting with this shorter guy holding a glass of wine. Fancy much.

When I got close, my hands got all sweaty and my steps slowed down. I had to remind myself: Marco, this is Ronan Diaz. Your ultimate hero. Don’t mess up. So I tapped him on the shoulder—so brave—and muttered, “Mr. Ronan?”

He turned real slow, and I swear his eyes were like lasers. So sharp and cold. It was kinda scary, but also... wow. When he said “Yes?” all clipped and cool, I almost froze.

But then I smiled nervously and introduced myself. “I’m Marco. Marco Romano.” forwarding my hand for a handshake.

He shook my hand—firm like a pro—and then let go, still looking at me like he was trying to figure me out. I took a deep breath and just let the words fly, like a waterfall of fangirl energy.

“I—I just wanted to say I’m your biggest fan. I’ve admired your work for as long as I can remember. You’ve been a huge role model to me. I’ve watched all your interviews, read every article about you, and followed your career so closely. You’re the reason I wanted to study business!”

I was probably sounding like a total goof, but I was glowing inside. “I can’t believe I’m actually meeting you,” I added, voice full of awe, hoping he’d like me a little.

He gave this tiny, almost-smile thing—but honestly, his eyes were still icy cold. Then he said, “That’s... good to know. But I’m afraid I don’t recognize you. Are you new to the business?”

“Oh, right! I’m sorry.” I blurted out, totally flustered, cheeks practically turning into strawberries.

Ughhh, way to go, Marco. You meet your idol and immediately forget to mention the important stuff. I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly, my eyes darting around like a confused puppy trying to find its toy. And then—aha! My saviors!

I spotted mom and dad standing gracefully across the room, probably charming the people like the lovely duo they are.

With a small, proud smile and a prayer that I wasn’t totally screwing this up, I pointed toward them. “You see them? That’s my Dad, Arlo Romano, and my Mom, Sofia Romano,” I said, a hint of pride sneaking into my voice.

I mean, they're awesome. Legendary, even.

Mr. Ronan’s head turned slowly like he was scanning a threat or analyzing a chessboard. His icy eyes narrowed as he looked at them. It wasn’t just cold anymore. No no no. There was something weird and twitchy behind that usual blank-stare-of-death face he wore. It was like his brain glitched for a second.

And then, he snapped right back like a rubber band. “Those are your parents? But they had—” he paused, and I swear my stomach did a triple flip.

But they had...? What does that even mean?! My heart started beating in my ears. He looked like he’d just seen a ghost—or maybe like I was the ghost? Honestly, I had no clue. My palms were sweating so much.

Then his voice dropped, all scary and deep, like he was about to interrogate me under a spotlight or something. “How old are you?”

Gulp. Panic. Internal screaming. “I’m twenty-one,” I muttered, suddenly not so bubbly. The excitement was gone. Replaced by awkward teen energy and regret over every single decision I’d made in the last five minutes.

He just stared at me like I was a Rubik’s cube he couldn’t solve and didn’t really want to. And that stare got to me. I fumbled and blurted out the one thing I probably should’ve kept to myself. “Do you also hate my dad?”

Yep. Said it. Said the thing. Ugh Marco shut up shut up shut up!

His brows pulled tight, like I’d poked a sleeping dragon with a stick. “What do you mean?” he snapped, and oh boy, I felt like the air got ten degrees colder.

“Well…” I mumbled, my voice falling to a whisper. “My dad doesn’t like the idea of me admiring your work.. or you.” And there it was. The truth. A big ol’ secret I just dumped like spilled soda.

Mr. Ronan exhaled sharply, like I’d pressed the wrong button on a very expensive robot. His jaw tensed and his gaze hardened into something even frostier. “I don’t hate your dad,” he said, voice stiff and so serious, “And I couldn’t care less about his feelings toward me.”

I felt like I should disappear into the marble floor, but I somehow stayed standing—nervously fidgeting like a squirrel on espresso. And then he hit me with another cold one. “Are you a student?” His tone was deadly serious. Like he was interrogating a spy.

“Yes,” I said quickly, forcing a smile that was doing its best not to tremble. “I’m in my first year, studying business management.”

I was trying to sound confident. But let’s be honest—I probably looked like a baby duck asking a hawk for business advice. But hey, I was talking to Ronan freaking Diaz. That had to count for something, right?

Right???

Mr. Ronan raised a brow, all cool and serious. “Any internships?”

I blinked, then shook my head quickly, hands tucked behind my back. “Not yet,” I said softly, trying to keep my hope from spilling out too much.

I mean—hello, I just told him he’s my idol! And now he’s asking that??! And then... and then—he reaches into his blazer like some badass spy boss and pulls out this sleek business card. Like, the kind you see in movies. Matte black. Embossed letters.

Probably worth more than my entire monthly allowance. He handed it to me with this slow, deliberate motion like he was offering me an ancient scroll or something. “Here,” he said.

I stared. Then took it slowly. Carefully. Like it might explode or vanish in a puff of smoke if I blinked too hard.

“Tomorrow. My office. 2 p.m. sharp,” he added, crisp and commanding. No room for butterflies. “if you can.” It was a command. And holy cannoli... I was gonna pass out.

“Does that mean I’ll get to work for you?” I asked, my voice shooting up like ten octaves because—OH MY GOD I COULD NOT CONTAIN THE JOY!!

My grin was probably so wide it could’ve touched both ends of the bar.

But Mr. Ronan didn’t even twitch. “You’ll be interviewed. If you pass, you’ll be trained. I don’t take risks with my company,” he said, as firm as a brick wall.

My eyes flitted to the card, then back to him. My head was spinning. “But why me?” I asked.

Why give me a shot?

He rolled his eyes. ROLLED HIS ACTUAL EYES. I may have died for a second inside.

“Listening to you ramble about how much you admire me, I figured I’d give you a shot. But if you’re not interested, I can find someone else who is.” His voice stabbed right through my heart with irritation.

Ouch. But also.. fair.

I panicked—again—and nodded so fast I might’ve looked like a bobblehead. “No! Thank you so much, Mr. Ronan. I promise I won’t disappoint you,” I said with everything in me, bowing a little like some awkward penguin before I turned to leave.

As I walked away—bounced away, honestly—I could still feel his eyes drilling holes into my back. Piercing. Calculating. Like he was burning my name into his memory.

His mind? Probably whirling with dark, mysterious boss-thoughts.

Me? I was floating on air. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much. My stomach was doing somersaults. My heart? A DRUM SOLO.

But also I couldn’t tell anyone. Not now. Not yet. Because deep down I knew this had to stay my little secret.

For now, at least.