The Solstice Grand Ballroom shimmered like a dream dipped in gold.
Crystal chandeliers spilled light across polished marble, a string quartet swayed through a waltz, and hundreds of bodies moved in coordinated elegance—like a dance Lila didn't know the choreography to. Waiters glided between groups with trays of champagne, and every conversation seemed to hum with money, ambition, and transactional charm.
Lila held her chin high, her midnight-blue gown hugging her curves, the satin cool against her skin. She knew how to perform confidence—every dancer did—but her heart thudded like a misstep in an otherwise perfect routine.
Ethan, however, looked like he was born for this world.
The tuxedo fit him like it was tailored to his existence. His posture, his stride, the sharp yet effortless smile—all of it radiated authority. But the part that made Lila feel safe wasn't the image he projected.
It was his hand resting on her lower back, steady and firm, grounding her.
"Relax," he murmured as they began to dance, his tone teasing. "You're stealing the show, and it's making the board nervous."
She laughed, spinning effortlessly into his arms. "You're not so bad yourself."
"You're lying. I've been stepping on at least one toe per minute."
"True," she whispered dramatically, "but I don't think anyone noticed."
He grinned. For a moment, they were just two people—not the financial powerhouse and the struggling dancer—just Ethan and Lila, wrapped in music and soft light.
But the illusion fractured as the night unfolded.
Everywhere they went, people watched.
Some with curiosity.
Some with fascination.
Some… with judgment.
Lila felt it in the way their eyes skimmed over her—calculating the dress, the jewelry, the career. They didn't have to say anything; the assessment was loud enough.
Who is she?
Where does she fit?
Does she fit at all?
Whenever doubt flickered in her expression, Ethan squeezed her hand or dropped a soft kiss near her temple. It helped. But not enough to drown the attention.
Then came the moment Lila dreaded—introductions.
CEO. Investment strategist. Corporate lawyer. Board chair. The names blurred together with icy smiles and measured interests.
One man, gray-haired and regal, shook Lila's hand and said, "A dancer? Ah, you're very brave. Such… delicate careers."
Another, with a voice steeped in arrogance: "Makes sense. Ethan always did love a challenge."
Ethan's jaw locked. Lila tightened her grip on his arm before he could snap.
She'd faced harsher criticism than this—from choreographers, from patrons, even from herself. But Ethan wasn't used to protecting someone from judgment.
He didn't know that sometimes the strongest response was not reacting.
They reached the bar for a brief break when she saw her—the woman in red.
Tall, elegant, raven-haired, wearing confidence like a second skin. Her gown clung to her with sculpted precision, jewels sparkling at her throat. She was the kind of woman who had grown up in wealth, not wandered into it.
And the way Ethan stiffened—just slightly—told Lila everything before the introduction even happened.
"Lila," he said carefully, "this is Claire."
Claire smiled like a wolf with diamond teeth. "Ethan and I go way back."
"College," Ethan clarified, his tone clipped.
"Longer than college," Claire corrected with silky insistence, placing a manicured hand on Ethan's arm for a second too long.
Lila's stomach twisted.
Claire turned to her with exaggerated delight. "You must be the dancer. I've heard… stories."
"Nothing scandalous, I hope," Lila said lightly, refusing to flinch.
"Oh, not at all." Claire tilted her head. "Just that Ethan has a type. Ambitious. Driven. Beautiful. But…" She paused, eyes sweeping Lila from hair to heels. "…fleeting."
Ethan's expression sharpened. "Claire."
"What?" Claire gave a mock-innocent shrug. "I'm just saying, dance careers are so… temporary. Costly. Short-lived."
It was an intentional low blow—right at the insecurities Lila kept buried.
But Lila wouldn't hand her the satisfaction.
She smiled—serene, practiced, lethal in its own way.
"You're right. Dance is temporary. It takes every ounce of strength and discipline to survive even one season. And I wouldn't trade that for a lifetime of comfort. But I do admire women who choose easier paths."
Claire's smile cracked like thin glass.
Ethan choked back a laugh. "That's my cue to get more champagne."
He left for the bar, trusting the two women not to kill each other.
Claire watched him walk away before turning back to Lila.
"Enjoy it while it lasts," she said quietly, without pretense now. "He's like this in the beginning—intense, devoted, curious. But it always fades. Eventually, work wins. It always does."
Lila stared at her. "Are you warning me?"
"I'm reminding you." Claire's voice softened—not kind, but human. "Ethan lives in a world where emotions are… liabilities. Don't get too attached unless you're prepared to lose."
With a final pointed smile, she walked away, leaving the words like ice in Lila's bloodstream.
When Ethan returned, he immediately sensed her change in energy.
"What did she say?" His voice was tight.
"Nothing I couldn't handle," Lila answered, forcing a lightness she didn't feel.
He studied her face like he wanted to pry open her thoughts. She looked away.
The rest of the night passed in a blur of conversation, dancing, and laughter that felt slightly too loud, smiles slightly too bright. Claire's words clung to Lila's ribs like splinters.
Temporary.
Fleeting.
Enjoy it while it lasts.
And suddenly every detail of the gala felt like evidence.
The way people measured Ethan with respect—and her with curiosity.
The way Ethan fit here with effortless precision—and she existed slightly outside its perimeter.
The way his world was structured, permanent, strategic—and hers lived on passion, risking everything for a dream held together by budgets and faith.
For the first time, she wondered:
Could someone like Ethan truly share his life with someone like her?
Would there always be a countdown?
By the time the final song played, her smile was thin but steady.
As they stepped outside into the cool night air, Ethan helped her into the waiting town car. He looked at her like she was the only person in New York City.
But she couldn't shake the whisper:
Don't get too attached.
She stared out the window as the city lights blurred past—bright, beautiful, and unreachable.
Ethan reached for her hand.
She let him hold it.
But the doubt… held her too.