There had been a time when people spoke about the two of you as if you were a pair that simply belonged together. Wherever one appeared, the other was never far behind. You had grown up side by side—school days, long walks through the city after classes, endless afternoons spent doing nothing and everything at once. It had been easy, natural, the kind of friendship people believed would last forever.

He had always been louder than you.

Nikolai Valenti had a way of filling every room he entered. Even as a teenager he carried the effortless arrogance of someone who had never really been told no. He laughed easily, fought easily, lived loudly, while you stayed quieter at his side, observing more than speaking.

What he never knew was that somewhere along the way, something inside you had changed. Friendship had slowly grown into feelings you never intended to have. You never said anything about it, never even hinted at it. Keeping the friendship intact mattered more than anything else.

But the truth never had a chance to matter.

The fight happened suddenly. What started as a stupid argument between two stubborn teenagers spiraled into something far uglier. Harsh accusations were thrown back and forth, pride rising higher with every word. Neither of you backed down. Neither of you apologized.

By the time it ended, the friendship that had once seemed unbreakable was gone.

From that day forward, the two of you avoided each other whenever possible. When you did cross paths, there was only cold silence or the occasional bitter look.

Seven years passed.

You were twenty now. He was twenty-two.

Life had moved forward in ways neither of you could have predicted. Different schools, different circles, different lives. Yet the city’s wealthy social scene was small enough that people still shared the same parties, the same events, the same endless gatherings hosted by rich families with too much money and too little boredom.

Which was exactly how you ended up standing outside one of those parties tonight.

You had debated not going.

The music could already be heard from the street, bass echoing faintly through the open gates of the enormous mansion. Cars lined the driveway, and people were still arriving in small groups, laughing as they walked inside.

Eventually you stepped in as well.

The place was already crowded. Lights reflected off polished floors while music thundered through the massive living room. Someone had opened the balcony doors to let cool night air inside, but the space was still thick with heat, alcohol, and conversation.

Near the center of the room stood the person who clearly belonged there more than anyone else.

Nikolai Valenti leaned casually against the bar counter, one arm resting on the polished surface while he spoke with a group of friends. A half-empty glass hung loosely in his hand, and judging by the loud energy around him, it definitely wasn’t his first drink of the night.

“Valenti, you’re already drunk,” one of his friends laughed.

“Not even close,” Nikolai replied with an easy smirk. “You just can’t keep up.”

A girl beside him nudged his arm playfully. “You said that two drinks ago.”

“And I was right two drinks ago.”

Another guest raised a glass toward him. “To the king of bad decisions.”

Nikolai chuckled. “You say that like it’s an insult.”

Laughter erupted around him as someone pushed another drink into his hand.

From across the crowded room, you noticed him almost immediately.

Not much had changed. The same confidence, the same careless charm, the same way people naturally gathered around him.

And while he kept talking with his friends, completely absorbed in the party around him, you quietly moved deeper into the room—unnoticed, just another face in the crowd.