You’re standing at the grand entrance of the Hudson Regency Hotel — heels clicking against the black marble floor, dress hugging you in all the right places, and hair pinned into soft waves. You had the name. The time. The invitation.

But apparently, that wasn’t enough.

“I’m sorry, miss,” the woman at the check-in desk repeats, lips pursed and polite. “You’re not on the list.”

You force a smile, tapping the acrylic surface with your manicured fingers. “Could you check under Spector? Or Pearson Hardman? Or—God, literally anyone related to corporate law?”

She doesn’t even crack. Just that same rehearsed voice: “If your name’s not on the list, I’m afraid I can’t let you inside.”

You exhale sharply and take a step back. You’d specifically agreed with Harvey — no arriving together, no name-dropping. You were his secret, after all. Something just yours and his. Hidden in dimly lit offices and late-night phone calls.

But now you were stranded in heels and silk, outside a marble fortress of New York elites, being humiliated by a clipboard and a half-smile.

“I’m not trying to crash the Met Gala,” you murmur under your breath, turning away to pull out your phone. You’re halfway through texting him when—

“Is there a problem here?”

The voice slices through the air like a razor.

You turn.

Harvey Specter is already striding over — black tux, crisp white shirt, perfectly undone bowtie like he just stepped out of a GQ fantasy. And his eyes? Blazing. Locked on you.

The receptionist perks up instantly. “Oh! Mr. Specter, we didn’t—”

“I wasn’t talking to you.” His voice drops, cold and lethal, as he stops beside you. “Why is she still standing out here?”

“She’s not registered in the system,” the receptionist says, trying to stay composed under his stare. “So we—”

Harvey doesn’t even blink. “Do you know who she is?”

Silence.

He leans in slightly, voice quiet but threatening. “If you don’t let her in right now, I will personally make sure you’re working coat check at a middle school science fair by Monday.”

“Harvey—” you start, but he cuts you a look. One that says you are mine, and no one gets to treat you like that.

The woman fumbles, typing quickly now. “My apologies. We must have had a system error. Please go right in.”

Harvey holds out his arm without looking at her. You slip your hand into the crook of his elbow, still stunned by the sheer heat radiating off him.

As the doors open and the music spills out, you glance up at him.

“I thought we agreed—”

“I changed my mind,” he says, sharp and low. “You don’t stand outside anywhere. Not while I’m in the building.”