The elevator chimed softly, doors gliding open to release a spill of golden light from the ballroom. Isla stepped out between the two men, her heels sinking into the lush carpet, heart knocking with a rhythm she hoped didn't show on her face.
The room unfolded like a page from a magazine—ceilings lost in crystal chandeliers, their droplets catching every flicker of light like molten stars. A sea of people glided across polished marble, laughter weaving through the low hum of strings from a live quartet. The air smelled faintly of roses and champagne—a sweetness laced with power.
Tyler's hand brushed hers before settling at the small of her back, warm and steady as if to anchor her in place. Isla stole a glance at him. He looked like he belonged here. The midnight fabric of Tyler's suit gleamed like ink beneath the chandeliers, every stitch deliberate, tailored for precision. A silver tie anchored the look—a classic choice, not daring but assured, the kind that belonged in boardrooms as much as ballrooms.
Unlike her.
Her fingers skimmed the midnight-blue chiffon of her dress, its simplicity both her comfort and her shield. The fabric whispered as she walked, soft enough to pass, not loud enough to draw eyes. She was grateful for that—grateful not to shine. Not here. Not with Tyler around.
Beside them, Cael carried the same easy composure that always drew eyes without effort—not from rebellion, but from certainty. He didn't need to assert space; it simply unfolded around him.
For a few moments, the three of them wove through the clusters of guests together, smiles exchanged with strangers who didn't linger long enough to matter. Then Cael tipped his chin toward the far end of the hall, his mouth curving with something like apology.
"You two go ahead. I'll catch up." He said, voice easy.
Tyler gave a single nod. Isla hesitated, but before she could say anything, Cael was already slipping into the crowd, swallowed by suits and silk.
Tyler's hand stayed at her back, guiding her through the current of people toward one of the tall cocktail tables near the edge of the room. His fingers lingered longer than usual, a quiet claim she couldn't quite name.
The first time someone approached—a man with an affable smile and the kind of confidence that said he was used to being welcomed—Tyler stepped in before Isla could finish her polite greeting. His laugh came smooth, his conversation redirecting the man so deftly it almost seemed like courtesy. Almost.
It happened again. And again. Each time, Isla felt something tug at the edges of her awareness. Tyler wasn't rude—far from it. But there was an efficiency to the way he cut the moments short, like he was sweeping crumbs off a table before they could settle.
She told herself it was nerves. His first night in a place like this. Her first night with him in a place like this.
But then his attention caught on something across the room, and the shift in his expression was immediate—a flicker of recognition, the kind that spelled opportunity.
He leaned down slightly, voice soft near her ear. "I'll be right back."
"Okay," Isla murmured, but the word barely left her lips before he was gone, threading through the crowd with a smile that belonged to ambition.
For the first time all evening, she stood alone.
Across the ballroom, a pair of eyes had already found her.
Dorian's smile didn't falter as another guest laughed at something he said, but the words were background noise now, his focus drawn elsewhere. He'd spent years in rooms like this, shaking hands that felt the same, hearing compliments that rang hollow. Faces blurred. Voices merged. But not hers.
He recognized her the second she walked in—the woman who once looked at him without pretense, without flattery, without fear. The one who made a headline for saying exactly what she thought of him.
And tonight, she wasn't hiding behind a counter or flour-streaked apron. Midnight-blue suited her differently—quiet, almost cautious, as if she wanted to vanish into the folds of this evening.
His gaze slid briefly to the man beside her—close enough to claim, the kind of presence that didn't shout but still warned: mine. Interesting.
⸻
"Guess I left you stranded."
Isla turned, relief loosening her chest at the familiar voice. Cael stood there, drink in hand, posture easy but his eyes holding that quiet sharpness that always felt... alert.
"Not stranded," she said lightly. "Just... parked."
He smiled at that, something quick and knowing. "Fair enough. Thought you might appreciate some company that isn't..." His glance flicked toward the crowd. "Strategic."
She laughed under her breath. "You make it sound like a game."
"Isn't it?" His brow lifted, teasing but edged with truth. He let the words hang a beat before adding, "Different rules, though. Not the kind you're used to."
Isla tilted her head slightly. "You think I'm bad at playing?"
"Not bad," Cael said, mouth curving. "Just... honest. Makes you stand out more than you realize."
The comment landed softer than a compliment—closer to an observation. Isla glanced away, letting her eyes drift across the glittering crowd. "Standing out isn't exactly what I'm aiming for tonight."
"Could've fooled me," he said, tone light but deliberate. "Blue suits you."
Her gaze flicked back to him, caught off guard for half a second before she found her voice. "That's... convenient. It was the only thing in my closet."
He gave a low chuckle. "Then your closet deserves some credit."
Before she could answer, movement stirred at the edge of her vision. Tyler. His smile was warm as ever, but there was something measured in the way he crossed the space between them—like a piece snapping back into place.
"Everything okay?" he asked, voice even but carrying that subtle weight Isla had started to notice. His hand found her waist again, firmer this time, like it belonged there.
Isla nodded quickly, keeping her tone light. "Just catching up."
Tyler's gaze skimmed Cael briefly, polite but cool. "Appreciate you looking out for her."
"Always," Cael said, voice smooth, unreadable as glass. His attention shifted back to Isla, not lingering—just enough to let the weight of the words settle.
A quiet beat stretched. The hum of music swelled, distant laughter rising from the far end of the hall. Isla forced a small smile, willing the air to ease.
Tyler broke it first. "Come on," he said gently, squeezing her waist. "There's someone I want you to meet."
She nodded, letting him steer her toward the inner circle of guests. For a fleeting second, her gaze flicked back—catching Cael watching, his expression giving nothing away.