The party was in full swing, the room buzzing with laughter and the clinking of glasses, when a subtle shift in the atmosphere drew everyone’s attention towards the stage area.

There stood Dad, Mom, and me—our presence alone commanding the room effortlessly. Dad, holding a microphone, tapped it lightly, the sound echoing through the hall, silencing the crowd.

But my eyes... they weren’t on the crowd. They were locked on her.

Aria stood a little ways from the stage, just enough to blend in, but not enough to hide from me. She was smiling up at me—soft, bright, innocent. I returned the same smile, just a touch softer, just enough to make her think it was for everyone.

It wasn’t.
It was only for her.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Dad began, his deep, confident voice resonating with authority. “If I may have your attention for a few moments, I’d like to share something important tonight.”

The room quieted. But inside me, there was a storm. She was still watching me. I could feel it—like fingers tracing my skin, eyes made of silk and heat. I didn’t look away.

“Tonight is not just a celebration of our accomplishments,” Dad said, his voice even, steady, “but a moment of transition, one that I have been looking forward to with immense pride.”

He turned to Mom briefly, and she gave him that warm, steady smile, hands clasped, eyes full of faith. My mother—the only woman who ever looked at my father like he was the sun.

“After years of leading this company,” Dad continued, “building it from the ground up, and cherishing every moment of this incredible journey, I have decided it’s time for me to step down. It’s time for new leadership to take us into the future.”

A wave of surprise moved through the crowd. A few murmurs, a few gasps.

“This isn’t a moment of sadness but one of joy and pride,” Dad said, “because I have the privilege of passing this responsibility to someone who has proven himself in every way. Someone who carries the same values and vision that built this company.”

He turned to me. And for a moment—I swear—I heard my own pulse.

“Alex, my son,” he said, his voice dropping into something softer, “you’ve shown integrity, dedication, and a deep sense of responsibility. I couldn’t be prouder of the man you’ve become. Tonight, I officially hand over my position to you, confident that you’ll lead with wisdom and heart.”

The applause roared through the hall, deafening. I didn’t blink.

Dad stepped aside and gestured for me to take the microphone. But before I did, he pulled me into a firm embrace, his voice low—gentle. “Make us proud, son.”

I nodded, lifting the mic with a quiet breath, steadying the storm inside. “Thank you, Dad,” I began, voice calm, though my eyes betrayed more than I liked.

“I am deeply honored to take on this responsibility. I promise to uphold the legacy you’ve built and to lead with the same integrity and passion that you’ve always shown.”

The room erupted into applause once more, but all I could feel was the flicker of her sudden absence.

Mom stood beside Dad, clapping softly, her eyes glassy with tears she never let fall. “He’s going to be amazing,” she whispered to him.

Dad smiled, the kind of proud smile that only comes after a lifetime of building something with your bare hands. He stepped forward and took the mic again, “Now, enough of the speeches! Let’s get back to what this evening is all about—celebrating. Enjoy the food, the company, and the music!”

Cheers filled the room as the lights dimmed, golden warmth washing over the crowd. The band shifted into a soft, mellow rhythm—something slow, made for swaying and whispered words on the dance floor.

Dad turned to Mom, hand outstretched, the perfect gentleman. “May I have this dance?”

“With pleasure,” she said, her smile blooming like something out of an old photograph.

They moved away, dancing like no one was watching. But I wasn’t watching them. I was scanning the room. The unease in my chest was spreading, crawling under my skin like fire. I searched each corner, each cluster of voices, dresses and drinks, until I realized…

She wasn’t there. Not in my sight. Not where she should be. A low throb pressed behind my eyes, not quite pain—but definitely warning. I kept it buried, deep beneath the calm surface, as I turned and spotted a familiar figure near the buffet—Marco.

He was clumsily piling food onto his plate like the world might run out of snacks any second. I let out a quiet breath, smoothing my expression as I walked over, each step deliberate. Composed.

When I reached him, I rested a hand on his shoulder. He jumped slightly, startled, but when he turned and saw me, his face split into that same bright, toothy smile I’d seen a hundred times.

“Hey, Marco,” I said, voice warmer than usual—just enough to sound normal. “Uh… where are your parents?” I asked hoping the casual air I wore could mask the storm brewing inside.

I didn’t dare ask about her. Not yet.

Marco paused mid-chew, eyes narrowing just slightly like he was reading a code only he could understand. His lips curled into a mischievous smirk, the kind only an annoyingly perceptive kid could pull off.

He jabbed his thumb toward the dance floor while cradling that dangerously overloaded plate like treasure. “They’re over there, dancing.”

I followed the direction of his finger, and sure enough, Mr. and Mrs. Romano swayed together under the dim lights, their expressions soft and content. The image should’ve settled something inside me—but it didn’t. It just reminded me of what I was missing.

Of who I was missing.

I turned back, lips twitching into a faint smile at the domestic bliss I’d just witnessed. I was about to casually circle back to the topic that really mattered when Marco beat me to it. “And my sissy went to the washroom,” he added with a smirk that damn near said busted.

I froze for a moment. The way his voice carried that teasing lilt, so innocent yet sharp—it struck me like an unexpected punch to the gut.

My hand moved to the back of my neck, rubbing slowly, like I could scrub away the heat creeping into my face. My teeth grazed my lower lip before I let out a soft, slightly breathless laugh. “Oh… um, I was about to ask—”

“I know, brother,” Marco interrupted, drawing the word out like it was laced in glitter and sarcasm. His eyes sparkled with the kind of amusement only someone twice as clever could manage.

I shook my head, chuckling quietly. “Okay then,” I muttered, retreating from further humiliation. “You enjoy your meal. I’ll, uh, see you later. Bye.”

I didn’t wait for a response. I turned sharply on my heel and made my way through the crowd, pulse ticking.

The lady’s washroom was honestly something out of a magazine. Elegant, over-the-top, and yet oddly calming. The walls shimmered with delicate tile patterns, glowing faintly under the chandelier that hung like a crown above the room.

A long marble countertop stretched across the space, each sink so pristine and high-tech it practically washed your hands for you. White hand paper towels were stacked neatly beside every sink.

I stood quietly at one of the sinks, letting the water run over my hands. The soap smelled like a soft blend of jasmine and sandalwood, and for a second, it felt like I was standing still in time—away from the party, the noise, the questions.

My eyes met my own reflection in the mirror. I tried to fix my expression, calming the fluttering in my chest.

This was all so new. Being at this kind of party, where cameras followed every turn, reporters lurked like shadows, and everyone dressed like royalty—it was everything Dad had warned me about.

At first, I’d been nervous, clutching the edge of my gown and sticking close to Alex. But surprisingly, once I got used to the rhythm of it all, it wasn’t as overwhelming.

Just exhausting.

The soft click of the door broke the stillness as a woman walked in quickly, clearly flustered. Her dress was a rich midnight blue, elegant and flowing, but a faint stain marred the fabric near the neckline.

She was trying to wipe it off with her hand, her movements rushed and a little desperate. Her hair was in a graceful bun, though a few strands fell loose around her face. She looked beautiful—but something in her expression was off. Sad. Distant.

She hurried to the sink next to mine, dabbing the stain with wet fingers, and I watched her for a moment, unsure if I should say something.

Then, I turned toward her. “Do you need some help?” I asked gently, offering her a polite smile.

The woman looked up, meeting my eyes. Her expression was a complicated mix of embarrassment and quiet defeat. “I would be grateful,” she said softly. “But I think it won’t come off easily now. It’s a wine stain.”

I stepped a little closer, glancing down at the dark patch on her dress. It wasn’t huge, but it was enough to catch someone’s eye. I tilted my head, thinking for a moment. Then my gaze rose to her hair, and an idea clicked.

“Why don’t you let your hair down?” I said, a small smile tugging at my lips. “You can cover the stain that way. At least it won’t ruin your evening.”

Her eyes widened, and her smile slowly bloomed. “Oh, that’s a great idea! I should’ve thought of that.”

“Here, let me help,” I offered, stepping in.

She nodded gratefully and began removing the pins from her bun. Thick, dark waves tumbled down past her shoulders. I adjusted a few locks, carefully pulling them over her left side, making sure the fabric at her neckline was completely hidden beneath the glossy veil.

“There,” I said, stepping back with satisfaction. “Perfect.”

She turned to the mirror, smoothing her hair out with her fingers. The stain was hidden, her posture straightened, and a spark returned to her eyes. She turned toward me with genuine warmth. “Thank you so much,” she said, extending her hand with a smile. “I’m Jessica Wilson.”

I took her hand with a warm smile. “I’m Aria. Aria Romano.”

Her grip was soft, grateful. We shared a brief laugh, the awkwardness from earlier slipping away like steam off the marble counters. As we stepped out of the washroom, the golden light of the chandeliers in the hallway kissed the polished floor, casting long shadows.

Jessica caught sight of someone up ahead and her face lit up instantly. She mumbled a quick, “Excuse me,” and walked forward with soft urgency in her steps.

I followed her with my curious eyes and then I saw him.

The man she approached had his hands tucked into his pockets, dressed sharply in a sleek suit that hugged his tall frame like it was tailored by the Gods themselves. The way he stood—so confident, so effortlessly present—was impossible to ignore.

Ronan. Freaking. Diaz.

Holy hell.