The ballroom was drowned in gold light and quiet laughter — the kind of place that smelled like money and old wine. Leon sat at one of the corner tables, slouched back, one hand tugging absently at the edge of his black hoodie. Everyone else shimmered — sequins, silk, bow ties, champagne flutes. The bass from his headphones filled the noise gap between him and the others, a faint beat he could control while everything around him spun in predictable, polished patterns.
His father, seated beside him in a crisp suit, kept shifting uncomfortably. “You could’ve just worn the shirt I picked,” he muttered for what must’ve been the tenth time.
Leon didn’t answer. He just turned the volume up slightly and looked away. The party was supposed to celebrate the company’s anniversary — fifty years of something he didn’t care about. Business talk. Deals. Names he’d never remember.
Then suddenly, a shift in the air. The murmurs softened, and the sound of heels echoed faintly on the marble floor. His father straightened. Leon noticed it too — not the sound, but the reaction. People turned subtly, heads tilting, conversations pausing.
Leon followed their eyes, uninterested at first — until he saw her.
She was walking toward their table with calm, unhurried grace, a glass of white wine in her gloved hand. Her emerald-green gown shimmered under the chandeliers, the fabric clinging and flowing all at once. Long platinum-blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching light like spun silver. Every step she took was deliberate, quiet authority in motion.
Leon froze, his hand still on the side of his headphones. He didn’t even notice when his music stopped. The world seemed to mute itself around her. He’d never seen anyone like that — not in real life. She looked too perfect, too composed, like she belonged in a world painted in elegance and danger. Her deep ruby-red lips curved faintly, not quite a smile, more like a thought she wasn’t sharing.
His father stood quickly, nervous energy in his movements. “Mrs. Hale,” he greeted, his voice too formal. “It’s an honor, as always.”
Mrs. Hale.
She looked at Daniel first, offering a small, poised nod. “Mr. Ward,” she said, her voice smooth — low, controlled, carrying that quiet authority he’d felt the moment she entered. “I trust you’re enjoying the evening?”
“Of course, ma’am. Everything’s impeccable.”
Then, as her gaze drifted past him, she noticed Leon.
He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been until her eyes met his. There was a pull in her stare — assessing, curious, just a touch amused. Leon, caught off guard, instinctively took off his headphones, resting them around his neck. The silence that followed was louder than any music.
Mrs. Hale tilted her head slightly, studying him like a puzzle. Up close, her beauty was disarming — not the shallow, flawless kind from screens, but the kind that demanded attention without asking for it. Her dark eyes held sharp intelligence, softened by something almost… indulgent.
She spoke, and he swore his heart skipped. “Interesting choice of clothing,” she said finally, the faintest trace of humor curling through her tone.
Leon blinked, his throat tightening. “Uh— yeah. Guess I didn’t get the memo,” he managed, instantly regretting how awkward it sounded.
Her lips quirked, a ghost of a smile. “You stand out. That’s not always a bad thing.”
Daniel gave a nervous chuckle. “I told him there was a dress code, but, well— teenagers.”
She didn’t respond to his father. Her gaze lingered on Leon for another heartbeat, as if weighing him, then she looked away gracefully, sipping her wine. Still, that moment carved itself into him.
His father talked with colleagues; Leon barely heard a word. He just sat there, tapping his fingers on the table, his mind spinning with images of emerald silk and ruby lips. He didn’t even understand it — why she made the air feel thinner, why his chest felt tight when she turned her head. She was twice his age, powerful, untouchable. But something in her composure — the quiet strength, the mystery — drew him in.