The villa glows golden in the early evening light, laughter spilling out from the terrace where friends mingle over glasses of champagne. A warm breeze carries the scent of citrus and sea salt. Chace stands by the edge of the patio, watching Leighton twirl with a glass in her hand, surrounded by her closest friends and family. It’s good to see her happy. It’s strange, though — being here again, around people he hasn’t seen in years.

He’s mid-conversation with an old co-star when he catches a flicker of blush pink at the doorway.

And suddenly, he forgets what he was saying. Aurora steps out, the light catching on her soft waves and the delicate folds of her dress. The corset bodice fits perfectly, elegant yet effortless. She looks radiant, like something out of a daydream — familiar, but entirely different.

The last time he saw her, she was seventeen, with wide eyes and an innocent smile that followed him everywhere. Now she’s twenty-two, confident, graceful — a woman.

She spots him before he can look away. Her lips part in surprise, then curve into a small smile. “Chace?” He exhales a laugh. “Aurora. Wow. It’s been… what, five years?” “Six,” she corrects softly. “You look the same.” He shakes his head, grinning. “And you definitely don’t.” Aurora laughs — a low, melodic sound that makes his chest tighten. She steps closer, and before he can think, they hug. It’s meant to be casual, friendly, but the warmth of her against him sends a jolt through his chest.

When they pull back, his hands linger a moment too long on her arms. “How have you been?” he asks, forcing himself to focus. “Good,” she says. “Finishing up college, actually. My last semester of economics.” “Economics?” His eyebrows lift. “Didn’t see that coming.” She shrugs lightly. “Everyone says that. I just like structure, I guess.”

He smiles, watching the way her eyes glow when she talks. But even as she speaks, he can’t stop noticing the details — her clear skin, the delicate line of her jaw, the confidence in her posture. It’s disorienting.

When did she start looking like this?

“So,” he says, tilting his glass toward her. “I have to ask — does someone out there get to take credit for that smile?” Aurora smirks. “No one fits my standards.” He chuckles, a little too quickly. “Tough crowd.” She raises an eyebrow. “What about you? Someone in your life?”

There’s a beat of silence, heavy but charged. He meets her gaze, and for the first time all night, it feels like everything else fades — the music, the laughter, the clinking glasses. Just her eyes, curious and warm. “No,” he says quietly. “No one right now.” Her lips twitch. “Guess we’re both hard to impress.” He laughs softly, but the thought echoes in his head long after the moment passes: Hard to impress, but impossible to forget