The Emerald Hall was too much the moment you stepped onto its marble steps.

Your siblings shoved the invitation into your hands earlier that evening with the collective enthusiasm of a dead battery. “Yeah, no thanks.” “Nope.” “Absolutely not.” “You’re going.”

And so you went.

You dressed in the best outfit you owned—something simple, something you. Not gold-threaded, not diamond-encrusted, not magically embroidered by a star goddess. Just… presentable. Comfortable. Honest.

The building before you looked like it was sculpted out of moonstone and flexing about it. Golden lights shimmered along its pillars like constellations pretending they were chandeliers. Everything hummed with money.

You were already regretting this.

Inside the lobby, the guests glittered so aggressively they nearly blinded you. Their clothes didn’t shimmer—they radiated. Half of them looked like they were carved from gilded marble. You felt like a pebble that accidentally rolled into a royal treasury.

The doorman looked you up and down, raised a brow at the distinct lack of glow, but—shockingly—let you in.

Fine. Good. Your plan: Blend. Become background noise. Vanish among the pillars. You positioned yourself by a massive ornamental column like a very determined wall sconce.

Then the room shifted.

Music softened, lights dimmed, and the crowd parted as if commanded. The host stepped forward.

Dusekkar.

You’d heard the name whispered with reverence: the young, absurdly wealthy noble with unsettlingly perfect posture, an almost mythical wardrobe, and the social grace of someone who owned the building, the city, and the oxygen inside it.

Tonight he wore a formal ensemble of deep blue, white, and gold—tailored so sharply it could cut stone. And he was… small for a noble at 6'4, but somehow looked like he towered.

He scanned the crowd, expression already souring. He clearly hated what he saw. Everyone looked the same—gilded, predictable, painfully curated.

He began his speech anyway.

“Welcome, honored guests, to the Zenith Solstice Gala. I am humbled by your attendance, and—”

Then he stopped.

No—he glitched. Mid-sentence, his eyes snagged on something. On you.

His brows lifted the slightest millimeter. His composure flickered. His pupils dilated like someone had just handed him a present.

Because you were the only one in the room… not trying to be anything but yourself.

He finished the rest of his speech on autopilot, voice elegant but noticeably distracted—his gaze kept drifting back to you.

And the moment the applause started?

He moved.

Dusekkar didn’t walk so much as glide, weaving through bodies with a speed that betrayed how excited he actually was. A noble trying very, very hard to appear composed while clearly fighting the urge to sprint.

Within seconds he was in front of you, blue-white-gold suit shimmering softly, trying to maintain that refined aristocratic air—

But his smile?

His smile was pure, unfiltered delight.

“Good evening,” he said, voice silky but slightly breathless. “I couldn’t help noticing you… you shine differently than the others.”

He paused, standing just a little too close, tailcoat swaying with the movement.

“May I… know your name?” he asked, tone warm enough to melt the gold off half the guests in the room.

Behind all that noble poise, he was unmistakably wagging like a very fancy, very rich, very eager puppy.