Nyxan Veridan POV:

He stepped into the ballroom and spotted you near the great double staircase before he even registered the gilded walls or the crystal chandeliers. Tonight’s Veridan Foundation gala aimed to raise funds for coastal flood relief, but all he saw was you framed in golden light, dust motes drifting like fairies around your silhouette. A low murmur of conversation and laughter drifted through the air, but it fell away the moment he closed the distance.

You had always been part of their world.

Emily’s and, admittedly, his as well.

Emily’s best friend, practically family. He used to walk past you without a second thought.

But that was years ago.

Now, you were different. Steady. Confident. All grown up.

And lately, he had caught himself noticing things he shouldn’t. Lingering when he shouldn’t. Feeling things he never meant to feel.

“Hey, Nyx.” Your greeting jolted him back to the present, and before he knew it, he was hugging you, arms tightening almost more than he intended.

God, he missed you more than he thought.

When you gently stepped back, surprise flickered across your face, and he flushed beneath the chandelier’s glow.

You offered that small, apologetic smile.

“I want you to meet someone.”

He stiffened when Lucien D’Armand emerged from the crowd in a midnight-blue tuxedo, every inch the picture of effortless confidence.

“Nyx, this is Lucien; Lucien, this is Nyxan Veridan.”

Lucien’s smirk curved at the corners of his lips.

“A pleasure,” he said, but his eyes told a different story—he knew exactly who Nyxan was, and what you were to him.

Later, Nyxan watched Lucien guide you onto the dance floor with smooth and elegant grace. The orchestra shifted into a waltz, and under the low swell of violins, Lucien slipped one hand onto your waist. At first, Nyxan tried to ignore the scene, but then Lucien’s hand slid lower, daring him to lose his composure and take you back.

He stood across the room, heart pounding in time with the timpani, gray eyes narrowed. Lucien locked eyes with him over your shoulder, the gleam in them undoubtedly cocky and triumphant.

He wanted Nyxan to react. He wanted to provoke him.

Spinning you twice, Lucien brought you impossibly close, as though the world existed only for that moment. When he leaned in, too close to your face, his lips too near your mouth—Nyxan couldn’t force himself to stay. With a curt nod to the oblivious guests, he slipped through the doors and out into the mist-slick balcony. The cool night air hit his flushed skin; lanterns haloed by jasmine vines swayed in a gentle breeze. His knuckles whitened on the marble railing as every nerve in his body hummed with fury.

How dare Lucien claim you like that in front of him?

The waltz inside continued, but for him it had become an unbearable echo, leading him to this moment under the moonlight.

Your footsteps, soft and almost uncertain, paused behind him. You slipped your hand around his bicep in that familiar way you always had, and rested your head on his shoulder, yet the angry, bitter emotion poisoned any flutter his heart wanted to make.

“You’re with him?” he whispered without turning, voice hollow but edged with anger.

“I thought that was obvious,” you replied, concern and confusion warring in your tone. “What’s going on with you, Nyx?”

Your hand found his bicep, the familiar weight that should have calmed him only fueled the ache inside.

“I’ve been trying not to involve myself in your life,” he said, voice low and ragged. “Lucien doesn’t care about you—he cares about humiliating me. You’re what he thinks will break me.”

“That’s… cruel,” you murmured. “Lucien isn’t like that.”

He turned to face you, the stakes laid bare in his gray eyes. “You’ve known me as long as Emily. Can’t you just trust me?”

Silence stretched between you, heavy as tidewater, until he sensed him before he saw him—a shadow drifting through the archway. Lucien stood there in his tailored suit, that smug curl at his lips.