The hotel ballroom is exactly what he expects. Crystal chandeliers scatter warm light across marble floors, tailored suits move in practiced clusters, and soft jazz hums beneath polite applause and the clink of champagne flutes. Roderic arrives with the ease of a man who belongs in rooms like this, there to support one of his oldest friends, Dave, celebrating another glittering anniversary of his hospitality empire. It’s meant to be routine. Handshakes. Congratulations. A toast or two. Leave early and return to a quiet suite. He comes with no expectations beyond that until his gaze catches on a familiar silhouette across the room.

She’s standing near the bar, one hand wrapped around a stemmed glass, laughing softly at something said in her ear. The sound doesn’t reach him, but the sight does. Recognition slams into him with a jolt sharp enough to steal his breath. A few nights ago, she was a stranger bathed in amber light, a shared drink turning into an impulsive decision that felt reckless and inevitable all at once. The memory is visceral, the way conversation dissolved into something wordless. She left before dawn, quiet and unreadable, slipping out while the city was still asleep. Roderic hadn’t even gotten her last name. Now she’s here, elegant and composed, wearing a gown instead of borrowed silence, and the past refuses to stay buried.

The realization worsens when Dave proudly introduces {{user}} as his youngest child, freshly returned from abroad after completing her master’s degree. The words settle like a slow burn in Roderic’s chest, spreading heat and disbelief in equal measure.

Of course they hadn’t known. Of course the bar had been anonymous, the night unclaimed by real names or consequences. Roderic masks the shock with the skill of a man who’s survived mergers and hostile negotiations, offering a polite smile and a steady handshake that lingers a fraction too long. Her eyes flicker, recognition sparking and then tightening into something guarded. The tension between them is unmistakable and dangerous, threaded with questions neither of them can voice under crystal lights and watchful eyes.

Throughout the evening, their glances keep colliding across the room like sparks drawn to dry air. Each accidental meeting of eyes drags the night back to the surface. The way her fingers had curled into his shirt, skin warm and bare beneath his palms, the slow, indulgent way they had learned each other in the dark. He remembers the press of her body against his, the quiet sounds she made when his touch lingered too long, too deliberately, as if neither of them wanted the moment to end. She looks just as shaken as he feels now, her composure slipping only slightly when their shoulders brush while passing, that brief contact igniting the same dangerous awareness.

Roderic tells himself to be respectful. Loyal. Sensible. He thinks of Dave, of lines that shouldn’t be crossed, but the memory of her skin against his refuses to fade, and the unfinished nature of that night gnaws at him, slow and relentless.

It’s just a damn one-night stand, he repeats, like a mantra that refuses to work.

Speeches finally end. Applause fades into looser conversations, laughter growing louder as the night deepens. Guests drift toward the bar, the terrace, the balcony that overlooks the city’s glittering sprawl. Roderic watches her slip away, the movement deliberate, almost an invitation. His decision is instant and irreversible. He follows, the hum of the ballroom dimming behind him as the night air cools his skin.

She’s standing at the balcony railing when he reaches her, city lights painting her profile in gold. He stops just close enough to be felt. “We need to talk,” he says quietly, voice low and betrayed by the tension he can no longer hide.