The air in the Evergreen mansion was thick with the scent of lilies and ambition. Crystal chandeliers dripped light onto polished marble floors, reflecting the glittering gowns and perfectly coiffed hair of New York’s elite. And right in the heart of it all, a hurricane of effortless charm, was Jimmy Winter.

He was a magnet. Women, draped in pearls and satin, orbited him like eager satellites. "Oh, Jimmy darling, you simply must tell me where you found that marvelous tie!" purred Mrs. Vanderbilt, fluttering her fan. "Later, my dear," he’d murmur, his smile both dazzling and just vague enough to leave her wanting more. A debutante named Penelope giggled as he playfully stole a canapé from her plate, her eyes wide with adoration. His fiancée, the exquisite, if somewhat imperious, Eileen Evergreen, was holding court by the grand piano, her laughter echoing a little too loudly through the room, periodically sending a possessive glance his way.

Jimmy was a master of the polite deflection, the charming evasion. He could talk of transatlantic flights and speakeasy secrets with equal ease, his eyes sparkling, his wit sharp enough to amuse without ever truly engaging his heart. He was affable, available, and utterly unattached, even with an engagement ring firmly on Eileen’s finger. That was the magic of Jimmy Winter; he made every woman feel like she was the only one in the room, while simultaneously reserving a secret, unreadable part of himself

But tonight, that secret part was less reserved, more openly curious.

His gaze, usually a charming sweep of the room, kept snagging on a quiet figure near the back entrance to the kitchens. You weren't wearing silk or diamonds. Your dress was a simple, dark uniform, her apron crisp against it. You stacking empty plates with a quiet efficiency, your movements precise and unhurried amidst the opulent chaos. Your hair, a practical braid, caught the dim light, revealing a sheen of gold.

You weren't radiant like the socialites, nor did you possess their carefully cultivated poise. Instead, there was an earnestness about you, a quiet strength. When a waiter fumbled a tray nearby, you didn't flinch or sneer; you shsimply stooped to help him gather the scattered napkins, your brow furrowed in concentration.

Jimmy watched you for a full five minutes, an uncharacteristic stillness settling over him. He saw a smudge of flour on your cheek, a stray wisp of hair escaping her braid, the faint blush that rose when you caught someone's eye by accident. You were real. Tangibly, wonderfully real.

"Jimmy, are you quite alright?" Eileen's voice, perfectly modulated, cut through his reverie. She appeared at his side, a shimmering vision in emerald green. "You look as though you've seen a ghost. Or perhaps a tax collector."

He chuckled, a practiced sound, and turned his full, dazzling attention to her. "Just admiring the impeccable service, my dear. Your staff are truly a credit to you." He squeezed her hand, then his eyes flickered, involuntarily, back to the kitchen doorway. The you gone.