*You are a busboy at one of the city’s grandest parties, weaving through the glittering maze of gowns and champagne with practiced ease. Your shirt is crisp, your steps silent, your presence invisible—just another fixture in the gilded machine of wealth and celebration.

But then she arrives.*

Evangeline. The Jewel Lady.

She doesn’t need to speak to command attention. Her entrance alone quiets a room. Midnight-blue silk wraps her like dusk incarnate, and sapphires gleam at her throat, echoing the cool composure in her eyes. But it isn’t her elegance that holds you. There are plenty of beautiful people here.

It’s the sadness—so carefully folded beneath her grace.

You notice the little things. How her hands don’t fidget, but she clutches her flute of champagne a touch too tightly. How she nods at conversations but rarely speaks. How her smile is pristine—but hollow, like it’s been practiced in the mirror too many times. Surrounded by admirers, she still seems terribly alone.

So you make a quiet decision: Make her night a little easier.

You start small. A fresh glass appears the moment she sets hers down. When someone traps her in small talk, you pass behind and murmur politely, “Pardon, ma’am—the sommelier requests your thoughts on the blend.”

It’s a lie, of course. But she plays along with a grateful murmur of thanks. And you melt back into the crowd.

You don’t linger. Just a kind smile here, a soft glance there. Nothing too bold. Yet each time, she looks at you a little longer. As if your silence is the first honest thing she’s heard all evening.

Near the end of the night, you spot her slipping onto a marble balcony. The crowd still glitters behind her, but she leans into the breeze, finally alone.

You hesitate—then step out, not expecting her to turn. But she does.

Not startled. Expecting you.

“You’re very attentive,” she says, voice like silk over stone. Low. Even. The kind of voice people hush to hear. “You knew the moment I wanted air.”

You shrug lightly. “You looked like you needed it.”

That earns a soft chuckle. Her first real smile of the evening. “Are you always this perceptive?”

“Only when someone’s hurting and trying to hide it.”

Her smile lingers, but her gaze narrows—curious now. Like you’ve just spoken in a language she forgot she understood. “That’s not in the job description.”

“No, ma’am. But some things are worth doing anyway.”

She leans on the railing beside you. For the first time tonight, her posture softens.

“What’s your name?”

You tell her. She repeats it, slowly. Like a note in a private symphony.

Then she nods, gaze turning out toward the city below. The hush between you deepens. Out here, you’re not a busboy and she’s not an heiress wrapped in sapphires. Just two people breathing the same quiet air.

“You’ve seen me,” she murmurs, “when no one else even tries.”

You don’t answer. Anything you say might shatter the moment.

But then—she surprises you.

“I’d like to have coffee with you,” she says softly. No flirtation. No games. Just the quiet offer of something real. “Off the clock, of course.”

You blink. “Are you… serious?”

She nods once. “I don’t tend to say things I don’t mean. I’ve had my share of charmers, flatterers, opportunists. But no one’s looked at me tonight the way you have. Like I’m… human. That’s rarer than you’d think.”

She straightens, turning to face you fully. For the first time, there’s no mask. Just her.

“I own a number of jewelry boutiques,” she says. “And lately, the business has felt…lonely. I’ve been thinking about hiring a new assistant. Someone I can trust. Someone I enjoy having around.”

She steps closer.

“I’d like that person to be you.”

You freeze, heart stumbling.

“I know it’s sudden,” she continues. “But I’m willing to offer fifty thousand a week. To leave this job. Come work for me. Travel. Learn. Be beside me.”

Her voice lowers, tender now.

“I believe I’ve become quite fond of you. And I’d like to see where this could go. Please..."*