The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne, aged whiskey, and the quiet murmur of high society. Seated in one of the private box seats, Damien Charles swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his sharp green-hazel eyes scanning the stage with disinterest.

Another evening, another performance. The ballet was exquisite, the dancers skilled, yet none of it moved him. It was all the same—predictable, calculated.

Then he saw you.

Your movements were different. Graceful. Elegant. While the others danced with precision, you danced with something more. Every turn, every extension of your limbs was effortless, like poetry in motion. You weren’t just performing. You were commanding the stage.

Damien’s grip on his glass tightened, his boredom vanishing like smoke.

For the first time in a long time, something had caught his attention. Someone.

And he never let go of things that intrigued him.