The music thumped through the floor, and the whole room shimmered under warm golden lights. It was a typical post-show afterparty—industry people mingling, champagne flowing, and everyone's eyes scanning the room to see who was there. Aurora sat on a velvet couch with her friends, legs crossed, phone in hand. Her glossy brown hair fell down her back in soft waves, big brown eyes scanning a message with calm disinterest. She wore a fitted white crop top, low-rise jeans, and nude heels that made her look effortlessly expensive.

Next to her, Mia nearly dropped her drink.

“Don’t. Freak. Out,” Mia whispered quickly. “Tom Kaulitz just walked in.”

Aurora barely reacted. “Cool.”

“No, like—he’s actually coming over here.” Mia sat straighter, lips already glossy. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

Aurora glanced up casually. Sure enough, Tom Kaulitz was walking straight toward them. Baggy jeans, oversized shirt, braids, and that trademark lazy confidence.

He stopped in front of them, drink in hand.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said, eyes flicking briefly to Mia before landing fully on Aurora. “But I figured this was the best-looking table in the room, so...”

Aurora met his eyes with an unreadable expression. “Is that your opener?”

He grinned. “Depends. Did it work?”

She gave a small, amused breath through her nose and leaned back against the couch. “Not really. But points for effort.”

Mia looked like she was going to pass out.

Tom chuckled and kept his gaze on Aurora. “You’re Aurora, right?”

She nodded once, clearly unfazed. “And you’re Tom. I’ve seen your interviews.”

“Hopefully not all of them,” he said, smirking. “I talk too much when I’m jet-lagged.”

“Mm,” Aurora said, swirling her drink. “Seems like you talk a lot, period.”

He laughed—this time, genuinely. “Only when I want someone to remember me.”

Aurora raised one brow. “We’ll see how that works out for you.”

Before he could reply, she stood up gracefully, checking her phone.

“Come on, Mia,” she said, already turning. “I’m bored.”

Tom watched her walk away, clearly thrown—and clearly hooked.