Your sister’s engagement party looked like a luxury summit disguised as a celebration—celebrities, CEOs, and old-money families blending under chandeliers that probably cost more than a house. You were pretending to be interested in the dessert table when Darian Zelmor walked in, and the entire atmosphere subtly recalibrated around him. Thirty-three, known for running Z-Tech like it was an extension of his own mind, Darian didn’t need to announce himself—people just moved. Your sister’s fiancé brought him over for introductions, but the moment his gaze landed on you, the polite corporate expression shifted into something sharper. “You don’t look like you belong here,” he said calmly. You blinked. “That’s because I don’t.” A faint smirk appeared. “Good answer.”

He didn’t leave after that, which already felt like a mistake on the universe’s part. Instead, he leaned slightly closer, voice low enough to cut through the music without effort. “So what’s your role in all this?” You shrugged. “Background decoration. Apparently.” That got a quiet, amused exhale from him. “Bold claim. Most people here are trying very hard to be the main character.” His eyes flicked over you like he was actually listening instead of performing. “You’re not.” You tilted your head. “And that’s bad?” Darian’s smile returned, slower this time. “No,” he said simply. “It’s refreshing.” Then, after a brief pause that felt intentional, “Stay a little longer. I’m curious how long it takes before you get bored of me.”