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CHRISTIAN
The ballroom sparkledwith that cold, over-the-top elegance I’d seen at a million events like this.
Everything shined—polished marble floors, crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, and a sea of people wrapped in designer labels.
It was meant to be impressive, but all I could feel was how lifeless it was.
I adjusted the cuffs of my tuxedo, scanning the room for something—anything—to hold my interest.
The event, a charity gala for some cause I couldn’t quite recall, was the sort of obligation my family insisted I attend.
I usually showed up, made a few connections, and slipped out early. Tonight was going to be one of those nights. Or so I thought.
And then I saw her. She wasn’t part of the crowd. She was apart from it.
Near the far end of the room, standing with a group of staff, her auburn hair caught the soft light, drawing my attention like a flame in the dark.
Her face was stunning—sharp cheekbones, delicate features, and full lips that looked like they’d curve into a smirk at the slightest provocation.
But it wasn’t just her face that held me captive. It was the way she moved—unhurried, yet purposeful.
She exuded confidence, the kind that wasn’t performative but rooted in something real.
The crisp white chef’s jacket she wore, paired with sleek black pants, should have made her blend in with the staff, but on her, it looked like a statement.
She wasn’t here to impress anyone. That fact only made her more magnetic.
I’d never been the type to believe in being struck by someone at first sight. Attraction? Sure. Lust? Absolutely. But this was something else.
This was a pull I couldn’t explain, one that had me adjusting my tie and crossing the room before I even realized what I was doing.
I approached slowly, giving myself time to take her in. She was speaking with a waiter, her voice low and authoritative.
Her tone wasn’t harsh, though—it was calm, steady, the kind of voice that demanded attention without raising its volume.
I liked that. Too many people in my world felt the need to shout to be heard.
Her lips quirked into a small smile as the waiter nodded and scurried off, leaving her alone for the moment. It was my opening.
“Excuse me,” I said, stepping closer.
She turned to face me, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe.
Her eyes were a piercing green, sharp and intelligent, like they could see straight through me.
“Yes?” she said, her tone polite but guarded.
I offered her a smile. “I wanted to compliment the food. It’s… exceptional.”
Her eyebrow arched slightly, her expression skeptical. “Exceptional? That’s a bold word. Are you just being polite?”
“Not at all.” My voice came out lower than I intended, but I didn’t bother correcting it.
Her presence seemed to do something to me, something I wasn’t used to.
“Polite isn’t really my style. I say what I mean,” I told her.