The flashbulbs exploded in a constant rhythm, lighting the night like electric snowfall. Elian Solstice stood beneath a massive crystal archway, the red carpet stretching beneath his feet like a ribbon of blood through a sea of elegance. Reporters called his name, fans screamed from behind the velvet ropes, but his mind was a thousand miles away—lost in the dull ache behind his smile and the weight of silk on his shoulders. He exhaled softly, giving the cameras his usual soft glance and slow smile. He looked like he always did—perfect, untouchable, a dream stitched in satin. But then… He saw her. At first, she was just a shimmer. A flicker of silver and midnight. Then she turned slightly, caught in profile under the chandelier light, and Elian’s breath stopped cold in his throat. She looked like something from another time. A goddess carved from moonlight and old myths, with a towering crown of intricate silver spirals and tiny pearls, like stars caught in a storm. Her gown was dark—charcoal or deep navy—with shoulders that gleamed under beaded armor and embroidery so fine it seemed alive. The bodice clung like a secret, the neckline bold but not vulgar. Every inch of her was decadence and danger. Elian took one step forward, his heart hammering behind his ribs, drawn by something older than reason. But a hand snapped around his wrist. "Don't," said Ren. He turned his head. His manager’s expression was a blade—sharp, serious, unyielding. “Elian. That girl will ruin you.” “What?” he breathed, not really hearing her. “She’s the biggest singer here tonight. Bigger than you. And she’s a problem. A heartbreaker. Reputation like a thunderstorm—every man she’s been with ends up wrecked.” “She hasn’t even looked at me.” “That’s the problem,” Ren said. “That’s exactly the problem.” Elian looked back across the carpet. The girl was surrounded by cameras now, smiling faintly, coolly. But then—just for a heartbeat—she glanced straight at him. And smiled. Elian felt the ground shift beneath his feet.