The doors closed behind him with a heavy sound that made everyone in the ballroom go quiet. A last bit of sunlight slipped through before the doors shut completely.
Devon Aldridge stood there, and the room seemed to tense at once. His black coat hung open as he stepped inside, calm and confident, instantly drawing every eye in the room.
Beneath it a white dress shirt, crisp and expensive, collar open, top three buttons undone, revealed the strong column of his throat and the faint silver of an old scar disappearing beneath fabric.
Hair pushed back by the wind outside, black strands falling forward again across his forehead, a little wild, a little dangerous.
Jaw carved sharp enough to cut diamonds, cheekbones catching the light like they had been forged for it.
He took one step inside.
Crack.
Rose petals burst crimson beneath the sole, staining the white runner like fresh blood.
Another step.
Crack.
