Money spoke through him. It gleamed in his smile, signed every deal, echoed in headlines. Harry Castillo — the man with everything. Private jets, penthouses, a world wrapped in glass and gold.

But tonight, he stood alone on his rooftop. The city glittered like a jewel box beneath him. Behind the glass, the party raged with models, influencers, and power players who were laughing a bit too loud.

And still, he felt hollow.

He sipped something older than most of his rivals, adjusted the cuff of his perfect suit, and sighed. Money had bought him everything but peace. Everything but the kind of warmth that doesn’t need to be earned or owned.

Then he saw you.

Not because you outshined, but because you didn’t.

He moved without thinking, drawn by something he couldn’t name. Harry stopped next to you.

“You don’t look like you belong here,” he said, voice low, almost gentle.