Noah Langford hated yachts almost as much as he hated his brother's parties. But tonight, he planned to sink one.
Not literally, though the thought held a certain appeal. But enough to make sure Jasper's latest spectacle didn't end up splashed across every gossip column in Manhattan. The Langford name had endured long before social media, and he'd make damn sure it outlasted his brother's talent for self-destruction.
The late-summer wind carried the heavy thump of bass from across the water, mixing with the faint sweetness of champagne spilled on sun-warmed teak. Noah stepped off the Langford security launch, dark coat shifting in the breeze, his shoes hitting the pier with the clean, decisive sound of someone who knew exactly why he was here. Two men in plainclothes flanked him, keeping pace.
Up ahead, the yacht glowed like a floating lantern, strung with warm light and brimming with bodies. Laughter cut sharp against the night. He could already imagine the tabloid captions: Billionaire heir Jasper Langford hosts another "private" celebration, notable guests include…
He adjusted his cufflink, jaw tightening. Until Elias woke, the company was his to protect. Which meant keeping Jasper from bleeding the Langford image dry.
---
The VIP deck was a hive disguised as a lounge. Sheer curtains stirred lazily in the cross-breeze, softening the sharp edges of glass and chrome. Champagne flutes winked in the low light, their stems resting on glass tables that reflected the shimmer of sequined dresses. A wall of sound, bass, laughter, clinking glass, pressed in from every direction.
Isla Quinn stood half-turned from the bar, her back to the ocean view. The gold silk of her slip dress caught and bent the light when she shifted her weight. Her right hand rested on the stem of a fresh glass, the condensation darkening the thin napkin beneath it.
Across from her, Jasper Langford leaned against the bar in practiced casualness, one elbow braced, his smile just a little too satisfied. He'd been hovering all evening, never quite crossing the line into touch, but making his interest plain.
"You should relax," he murmured, pitched low, as if the music and chatter weren't loud enough to swallow his words. "You look like you're planning your escape."
Isla's answer was a faint smile, professional, polite, before her gaze slid past him toward the stairs. Marla would want her to stay and "make the appearance worth it." But the room felt hotter than it should, the air laced with too many scents. The champagne didn't help. Alcohol never did.
Near the side rail, a crew member caught Jasper's eye and gave a small nod. He returned it without breaking his smile. Isla turned her attention back to her drink, pretending she hadn't noticed.
---
Noah took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the waitstaff who tried to greet him. He didn't need their polished smiles. He needed Jasper.
The bass deepened as he reached the VIP deck, a wall of warmth and perfume closing around him. The place was all low, golden light and curated opulence. A floating stage for people who lived for the gaze of others.
His scan was quick, efficient. And then he saw her.
At the bar, half in profile, Isla Quinn tipped her glass slightly, watching a drop of champagne slide down its curve before it touched her mouth. Gold silk draped against her like it had been poured there, a clean line from bare shoulder to narrow waist. Even in a room of deliberate beauty, she stood apart. Not louder, not brighter, but sharpened, distilled.
She looked at him then. sharp, assessing, as if she'd felt the shift in the air too. The crowd between them blurred for a moment, music thinning to a hum.
Neither of them smiled.
—
From Noah's vantage point, the picture assembled itself in seconds.
Jasper's stance, close but not close enough to touch, was a familiar pattern.
A new conquest.
He'd seen his brother wear that expression before, the faint glint of entitlement under the charm. What he couldn't yet read was her response. Isla Quinn's smile was a fraction too measured, her body angled to give space rather than close it. If she was indulging Jasper, it wasn't with any real investment.
She didn't look like the women Jasper usually preferred. Or perhaps it was the way she carried herself, poised but detached, like she'd decided her worth long before stepping onto this yacht. The dress skimmed her frame in a way that suggested she hadn't come here to be someone's decoration, and yet the gold caught the light as if to remind him she was being watched.
Noah's gaze drifted to her hands. Long, steady fingers resting on the stem of her glass, no nervous fidgeting. Whatever game Jasper thought he was playing, she wasn't giving him an easy win.
---
Isla, for her part, didn't recognize the man at the top of the stairs.
The tall man, dark coat was still open as if the night air clung to him, there was nothing about his posture that said "guest." He didn't linger at the rail to take in the view, didn't offer the polite half-smile most strangers gave in settings like this. His eyes moved with quiet precision, skimming over the crowd before landing on her.
Something in her chest shifted, a tightening. Alcohol had its ways of turning observation into curiosity. She took another slow sip, the edge of her glass cool against her mouth, and kept her gaze steady.
Unfamiliar.
Definitely not one of Jasper's usual friends. Which meant business… or trouble.
The faintest scent reached her, muted by the press of bodies and the mingled perfumes. Not enough to name, but enough to note. She let the thought slide away. There was no reason for him to be looking at her that way, as if weighing something unseen. Unless Jasper had already been talking.
---
Noah didn't break the line of sight when Jasper finally turned, following the invisible thread between them. His brother's expression flickered. Surprise first, then a quick smooth-over, as if he'd just realized his night might have gained an audience.
The music swelled, voices rising around them, but the edges of the moment held steady. Isla set her glass down and adjusted the thin strap of her dress, the movement small, deliberate, a shield disguised as grace.
Jasper leaned closer to murmur something, but Noah had already started forward, stepping into the golden-lit current of the crowd.
She didn't move away. She didn't smile. And for reasons he didn't care to examine just yet, he found himself unwilling to look anywhere else.