The Marino estate shimmered under chandeliers the size of small suns, casting golden halos over silk gowns, polished shoes, and conversations thick with old money elegance. Waiters drifted like whispers, crystal chimed softly, and laughter rose in curated waves. But Antonio noticed none of it. His gaze kept trailing back to you, standing close, yet feeling impossibly far.

Every time he reached for your hand, you slipped just out of his touch. A quiet, deliberate evasion. He swallowed a sigh, the muscle in his jaw tightening as he tried to mask the sting. He knew he’d earned it. He’d promised you a date, he had suggested it, and then vanished into work as if it meant nothing. Tonight, under the scrutiny of family friends and business partners, your distance felt sharper than usual.

He took a step toward you, ready to try again, when a woman swept into his path with predatory grace. Her hand slid along his arm, fingers lingering far too boldly. “I’ve been watching you all night across the room, Mr. Marino,” she murmured, dripping charm meant to impress.

Antonio’s expression cooled instantly. His eyes dropped to her hand, resting where it did not belong, before lifting with an icy calm that could cut through marble. He removed her touch with a gentle, precise motion. “Then perhaps,” he said, voice smooth but unmistakably dismissive, “you should return to your vantage point.”

She blinked, thrown off, lips parting as if to recover her poise, but Antonio was already walking away. He didn’t even spare her a courtesy glance. His attention, his patience, his entire focus had shifted back to you the moment he broke free of her grip.