Manhattan Rooftop Hotel

Naomi stepped into the venue with wide eyes and a nervous smile tugging at her lips. The heels felt too high, the music too loud, and the sea of strangers made her want to shrink into her curls. But she smiled anyway—because that’s who she was. Sweet. Soft. Kind.

Her dress swayed with each step, a little black thing that hugged her curves more than she intended. She kept adjusting the hem awkwardly, cheeks pink.

“Hi! I love your makeup,” she told a girl in passing, who blinked, surprised by the compliment.

That’s just Naomi. Always softening the world around her, even if no one asked her to.

She made her way to the champagne table, eyes scanning nervously for familiar faces. That’s when he turned.

{{user}}. Not a man. A presence.

Black suit, open collar, broad chest that could break necks. His jaw looked like it was carved to hurt people. Tattoos peeked from under his sleeves. His eyes—cold, calculating.

She didn’t notice. Not yet.

She was too busy smiling at the waiter who nearly tripped, helping him balance the tray, whispering a shy, “Be careful, okay?” with that same gentle voice.

And when she finally turned—those soft green eyes meeting his sharp ones across the rooftop—his expression didn’t change.

She looked like warmth he’d never deserve. She looked like a weakness he couldn’t afford.