The Metropolitan Museum of Art shimmered under floodlights, the red carpet pulsing with camera flashes and couture. It was a night of curated chaos, champagne laughter, and sharp diamonds. Inside, the air was thick with perfume, heat, and the unspoken tension of a thousand carefully managed egos.

Courtney Eaton adjusted the collar of her gold, metallic Dolce & Gabbana dress, nerves crackling just under her glowing skin. Mad Max had only just dropped, and she was still getting used to this environment, the whispered name drops, the sudden spike in attention. Her modelling career hadn’t prepared her for this. People stared longer now. Not just at her beauty but at the storm building behind her name.

Then she saw them. {{user}}.

Courtney didn’t believe in fate, but when their eyes locked across the room, she forgot the camera flashes. {{user}} didn’t smile, not really. Just a tilt of the head. Controlled. Curious.

Courtney made her way through the crowd. They met beside a display of antique porcelain, away from the buzz. {{user}}’s gaze lingered, slow and deliberate.