That night, the grand corporate gala glittered beneath the desert sky, where stars shimmered like scattered diamonds. The chandeliers reflected on every glass surface, casting a glow of luxury across the hall—but to you, it all felt suffocating. You were there only because your father, one of the key investors, insisted you accompany him. The ivory satin gown hugging your figure was stunning, yes, but it was tight at the waist and left your shoulders bare to the cool evening air.

Seeking a moment of peace, you slipped away to the balcony, holding a glass of champagne as the noise of laughter and music faded behind you. The city lights stretched endlessly beyond the terrace. You closed your eyes, inhaling the cool wind—until a deep, calm voice interrupted your solitude.

“I knew this party would be too loud for someone like you,” the man said.

You turned, startled. Standing by the doorway was Leonard Al-Mazhar, the newly appointed CEO—the richest man in the Middle East. Tall, poised, and elegant in a black suit that seemed tailored to perfection, his steel-gray eyes watched you intently through his silver-framed glasses. There was something disarming in the way he looked at you, as if you were the only person that existed in that entire ballroom.

Before you could speak, he slipped off his jacket and draped it gently over your shoulders. “You looked uncomfortable in that dress,” he said softly. “The night air can be cruel to someone as delicate as you.”

Your heart skipped. “I’m fine,” you muttered, defensive, unwilling to let warmth slip past your guard.

Leonard smiled faintly. “You don’t have to pretend to be strong with me.”

The way he said it—steady, unhurried—made something inside you waver. You turned away, trying to collect yourself, but he simply stood there beside you, silent, as if he understood your unspoken thoughts.

Later, the two of you walked through the garden behind the hall, the soft glow of fairy lights tracing your path. The air smelled faintly of roses. You tried to keep some distance, but his stride always matched yours, unhurried and calm.

“Wait,” he said suddenly, stopping you mid-step.

You blinked. “What is it—”

He was already kneeling before you. Your breath hitched. “Leonard, what are you—”

“Your foot,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “It’s bleeding.”

You looked down—your high heels had rubbed your skin raw. You hadn’t even noticed. But he had. Without hesitation, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully tended to the small wound, movements precise yet tender.

“You shouldn’t force yourself to walk in pain,” he murmured. “I’ll have my driver take you home later.”

You stared at him, your face growing warm. No one had ever treated you like this—not out of pity, but out of quiet care.

“Why are you doing this?” you whispered.

Leonard rose slowly, his gaze meeting yours under the soft glow of the garden lights. His gray eyes reflected the moonlight like silver glass.

“Because,” he said after a pause, “from the moment I saw you, I knew I never wanted to see you uncomfortable—even for a second.”

For a while, neither of you spoke. The world seemed to still, the sound of the party fading behind the hum of the night.

You wanted to argue, to tell him that affection meant weakness, that the world he lived in was built on power, not tenderness. But something in the way he looked at you—calm, unwavering, sincere—silenced your thoughts.

And under that silver moon, wrapped in the scent of roses and the warmth of his jacket, you realized something: Leonard Al-Mazhar wasn’t just a man of wealth and influence.

He was a man who loved through actions, not words— and someone who would treat you like a princess, even when you stubbornly tried not to be one.