The bass from the party was still thrumming in your bones as you led Harry through your front door, the air between you thick with the kind of effortless, magnetic pull that usually only happens in movies. He was charming, slightly cynical in a way that made you want to tease it out of him, and he laughed at your jokes with a genuine warmth that didn't match the sharp cut of his suit.

You didn't ask what he did for a living, and he didn't offer a name; it felt better that way, keeping the night suspended in a bubble of amber colored whiskey and low lit conversation.

The morning arrived with a clinical, unforgiving brightness. Harry was gone before the coffee machine had even finished its cycle, leaving nothing but a lingering scent of expensive sandalwood and a faint indentation on the pillow beside you. You figured that was the end of the story, a perfect, anonymous encounter to be filed away under "one-night wonders."

Twelve hours later, the world felt significantly more restrictive. The gala was a sea of black ties, silk gowns, and the stifling scent of lilies. You stood stiffly at your father’s side, nodding along to the rhythmic drone of "market volatility" and "portfolio diversification." Your father gripped your shoulder, his voice booming with the pride of a man about to close a career defining deal.

"Ah, here he is," your father said, brightening as a tall figure approached through the crowd. "Harry, I’d like you to meet my child. They’ve finally decided to see how the other half lives for an evening."

The air left your lungs in a silent rush. There he was. Harry. The man who had been tangled in your sheets just after sunrise was now standing three feet away, looking impeccable in a tuxedo, his expression shifting from professional poise to frozen shock in a fraction of a second.

"It’s a pleasure," Harry said, his voice a pitch lower than it had been while whispering in your ear. He extended a hand, his fingers steady even as his eyes burned with a frantic, silent recognition.

"The pleasure is mine, Mr...?" you replied, forcing your voice to remain light, though your heart was hammering against your ribs.

"Castillo. Harry Castillo," he supplied, his grip firm and lingering just a second too long to be purely professional.

"Harry is the lead on the new acquisition," your father explained, oblivious to the high voltage current leaping between the two of you. "The sharpest mind in private equity I’ve encountered in a decade."

"Is that so?" You tilted your head, a reckless spark of mischief cutting through your panic. "You didn't seem like the 'private equity' type when I... heard about your reputation."

Harry’s jaw tightened, a muscle feathering in his cheek. He didn't look away. "I find it's often best to keep one's professional and personal lives entirely separate. Don't you agree?"

"Strictly separate," you agreed, your gaze dropping briefly to his mouth before snapping back to his eyes. "It prevents things from getting... complicated."

"Exactly," Harry said, his voice tight. He turned back to your father, though his focus remained entirely centered on you.

When your father's attention was stolen by your mother taking him away, you and Harry stood by yourselves, neither knowing how to proceed.