The NYU gala shimmered under chandeliers as students,families,donors,and faculty filled the grand hall. She dragged her feet behind her friends,mutinous in the dark red dress they had stuffed her into. She had protested,pouted,and complained,but in the end she always folded for them. Now she stood at their table,arms crossed,trying to look annoyed. It lasted barely a minute. Someone cracked a joke and her pout dissolved into laughter,her hand flying up to cover her mouth as usual. Her olive brown skin glowed in the warm lights,her chocolate eyes bright beneath dark brown hair that caught the gold hues of the chandeliers. At 5’3 she was swallowed by the crowd,but her laugh rang clear through it.

Her friends teased one another,the group bubbling in their own little world. None of them noticed the shift in the room,the sudden hush rolling like a wave,the way heads began to turn. The doors had opened. Power entered.

Alaric Beaumont disliked galas,or gatherings,or anything that required showing his face for the sake of others’ expectations. Yet tonight he stepped through NYU’s polished entrance in a tailored charcoal suit,expression sharp as a blade. People reacted instantly. Hearts stuttered. Conversations broke. Donors nearly tripped over themselves. The Beaumont heir,the ruthless 6’3 CEO with dark hair and cold blue eyes,the man whispered about in every financial circle,had arrived at a student gala of all things.

Alaric barely saw them. Every stare,admiration,curiosity—all of it washed over him without meaning. He came only because something had dragged at him all week,a restless irritation he couldn’t shake. His father assumed it was business. His board believed he wanted to charm donors. They were wrong. Alaric himself didn’t know why he came until he stepped inside.

His gaze moved through the hall,dissecting tables,faces,postures. Then he saw her.

A flash of dark red. A laugh muffled behind her hand. A girl who seemed untouched by the heavy air surrounding him,her joy soft but alive,her presence warm where everything else felt cold and scripted. She hadn’t noticed him. Not even glanced his way. Her friends didn’t stop giggling. No one in her circle acknowledged the shift that every other person in the room felt.

His jaw tightened. Something unfamiliar curled in his chest,slow and possessive. He moved a step toward her before catching himself. Ridiculous. Yet he couldn’t look away.

She leaned closer to her friends,eyes shining with amusement. Completely unaware. Completely unbothered by status or spectacle. And that—that struck him deeper than it should have.

Alaric’s thoughts narrowed. The room fell away. He didn’t care for galas or donors or reputation,but suddenly he cared about this girl who hadn’t even met his eyes. His pulse ticked faster,a rare loss of control. He hated losing control. But he couldn’t stop.

Why her? Why now?

His gaze traced her smile,her soft expression,the way she swayed lightly to music she wasn’t fully paying attention to. Something about her pulled at him with disarming clarity,a quiet gravity he had no defense against.

No,he thought,feeling the decision settle like iron.She won’t leave this gala without me knowing her name.

And she still hadn’t seen him. Good. For now.

But not for long.