Harry had everything. Money. Influence. Women would crawl over coals for him. Hell, his apartment was worth $17 million. Not that any of it mattered when he went home alone most nights. And when he did bring someone home, all they saw were dollar signs.

So when one of his closest friends was set up by a high-profile matchmaker in New York, Harry took an interest. He watched their love bloom into something real—something so massive and all-consuming it ended in a beautiful wedding.

And Harry wanted that. The white cake, the flowers—fuck, he wanted a woman who saw him. Really saw him.

So when his friend introduced him to Lucy, he was intrigued. Willowy frame, long, pin-straight brunette hair—elegance wrapped in confidence. He slid beside her at the table, striking up conversation, enjoying the easy banter. The woman drank coke with beer, for god’s sake. An anomaly.

She called him a unicorn. A man who had everything—money, power, looks—yet was humble.

But something about her was… off.

Harry enjoyed a challenge. It excited him. But he was getting older. Tired, maybe. Lucy was quick-witted, fast to smirk, fast to flirt. Of course she was—she was a matchmaker. This was her job.

So why didn’t it feel as fun as it should?

When she stood to hug an old acquaintance—maybe an ex?—Harry quietly excused himself, slipping away to get a drink. He needed air, space. His friend looked so in love, and he wanted that. God, he wanted that.

Leaning against the bar, he sighed, nursing his whiskey as his gaze drifted across the room. People talking, laughing, dancing. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Until her.

She was nothing like Lucy. Softer. A quiet kind of warmth. Smiling as a group of kids tugged her onto the dancefloor, twirling in her lilac dress, her laughter floating through the air like music.

A bridesmaid? He hadn’t noticed her before.

But he was noticing her now. God, he was seeing her now.