The ballroom glowed with soft gold light, crystal chandeliers casting warm halos over a sea of people in elegant attire. You were there by accident—filling in for a friend who couldn’t make it to the annual city charity gala. You didn’t know anyone, and the endless swirl of conversations about donations and business deals made you feel like a misplaced puzzle piece.

Until you saw her.

Jennifer Morrison.

She stood near the silent auction table, dressed in a deep navy gown that shimmered like midnight under the lights. There was a quiet confidence about her—polished, graceful, but genuine in the way she laughed with the volunteers.

You didn’t realize she’d noticed you watching until she crossed the room, glass of champagne in hand, smiling like she’d been waiting for you all night.

“First time at one of these?” she asked, eyes glinting.

You nodded. “That obvious?”

She laughed softly. “Only because you’re the only person who doesn’t look like they’re pretending to enjoy themselves.”