The ballroom suddenly shifted. The lights dimmed, casting everything in a dreamy glow as the violin strings softened into a slower, sweeter melody. A hush rippled through the hall.
"Couple's dance!" someone announced cheerfully, and the floor quickly began to fill with pairs.
Asha gasped when one of their colleagues approached her with a polite bow. "Would you... like to dance?" he asked nervously.
She blinked, then quickly nodded. "Yes, of course!" she said, almost too eagerly — then leaned closer to Piya and whispered, "Better him than that devil." She cast another wary glance toward Joe, making sure he hadn't noticed her escape.
Piya watched as Asha disappeared into the crowd with her new dance partner, leaving her standing awkwardly beside Ram. Her fingers twisted around the edge of her clutch, her throat dry.
Ram turned to her, his warm smile never faltering. "And what about you, Piya? Should we give the floor a try?"
Her eyes widened. "M-me? Oh no, I don't... I don't know how to dance."
"That's fine," Ram said gently, his voice calm and reassuring. "You don't need to know. Just trust me."
The ballroom pulsed with soft golden light and flowing music, couples gliding across the dance floor like scenes from a movie. Piya stood at the edge with Ram, her hands clammy, her chest tight.
"Come on," Ram said gently, holding out his hand. "One dance. I promise, you'll be fine."
She hesitated, biting her lip. Her stomach twisted at the thought of so many eyes around them. Still, under his warm smile, she finally placed her hand in his.
Ram guided her carefully onto the floor. "Just follow me. Don't worry about steps," he murmured.
The music swelled. His movements were smooth, guiding her as though she were weightless. But Piya's body felt stiff, unnatural. Her mind screamed with every glance she caught — what if she tripped, what if people laughed?
"You're too tense," Ram chuckled softly, noticing her grip on his shoulder. "Relax, you're doing okay."
Piya forced a small smile, but her chest was tightening more with each turn. Her pulse raced, not with excitement but with the overwhelming weight of being surrounded, watched, judged.
After a few more steps, her breath grew uneven. She stumbled slightly, and though Ram steadied her quickly, the contact only made her heart pound harder.
"I—I think I need some air," she whispered, her voice nearly breaking.
Ram frowned with concern, but before he could reply, she had slipped from his hold, weaving through the crowd toward the edge of the hall.
The music faded behind her as she found herself in a darker corner, away from the dazzling chandeliers and watchful eyes. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm her frantic heartbeat.
Why am I like this? Why can't I just enjoy like everyone else?
But before she could gather herself, her heel snagged against the carpet. She gasped, her balance giving way as the world tilted.
And then—strong arms caught her.
The fall she expected never came. Instead, she was pulled against a solid chest, the scent of clean cologne and something darker filling her senses. Her eyes flew open—and met his.
Liam Asher.
He was half-turned, phone still in one hand, his deep voice cut off mid-sentence. His other arm circled her waist firmly, preventing her from collapsing to the ground.
For a heartbeat, the world stilled.
His dark eyes bore into hers, unreadable, sharp, intense. They weren't warm like Ram's, nor playful like Joe's. They were something else entirely—something that made her knees weak, something that made her breath catch in her throat.
It wasn't safety she felt. It was... something raw, something powerful. A shiver ran down her spine, her body trembling against his hold.
The music in the hall seemed far away. The crowd blurred. All she could see was him—his chiseled jaw, the faint shadow of stubble, the cold control in his expression, and those eyes that seemed to pierce straight into her soul.
Fear? Awe? She couldn't tell. She only knew her heart was hammering like it wanted to break free.
For the first time in her life, she felt completely... seen. And it terrified her.
Liam's gaze lingered a moment longer, unreadable, before he slowly steadied her on her feet. His hand slipped from her waist, but the ghost of his touch still burned through her dress.
"Careful," he said at last, his voice low, calm, but laced with authority.
And then, as though nothing had happened, he raised his phone again, his tone shifting into quiet respect. "Yes, Grandfather... I'll think about it."
Piya stood frozen in the corner, her pulse still racing wildly.
Had she just... fallen into Liam Asher's arms?
And why did it feel like the ground had shifted beneath her feet?
Piya's breath still hadn't settled when she slipped back into the main hall, her steps unsteady. She searched the crowd for something familiar, something grounding—and found Asha.
Only... Asha wasn't herself. With flushed cheeks and laughter spilling out, she swayed slightly in the arms of the same colleague who had asked her to dance earlier. He leaned in, whispering something, and Asha giggled in a way Piya knew wasn't entirely sober.
Piya's stomach tightened. The echo of Liam's eyes, that piercing stare, replayed in her mind like a haunting. She couldn't—wouldn't—stand here a second longer.
She darted toward Asha, slipping between clusters of employees and avoiding glances. "Asha," she hissed, tugging her friend's wrist. "We're leaving."
"What? Already?" Asha pouted, slurring slightly. "The night is still young!"
"Not for us," Piya muttered firmly, practically dragging her. Her chest still thudded from the earlier encounter, every detail of it clawing at her thoughts. The way his arms had held her waist, the quiet command in his voice, those eyes... as though he had stripped away every layer of defense she ever had.
She couldn't breathe properly until they were outside, away from the glittering lights and suffocating stares.
A cab pulled up, and she helped Asha inside. The ride was quiet except for Asha's occasional humming, lost in her own drunken daze. Piya dropped her friend at her doorstep, making sure she got inside safely before continuing on her way home.
When she finally reached her own house, her parents were still awake, waiting for her.
"You're back?" her mom asked, relief mixing with curiosity. "How was the party?"
Piya forced a tired smile. "It was... fine. I'm exhausted, Mom. Can we talk tomorrow?"
Her father studied her for a moment but didn't push. "Go rest, warrior."
She nodded quickly and slipped into her room, shutting the door behind her like sealing away a storm.
Only then did she exhale. A long, shaky breath that trembled out of her lungs.
Leaning against the door, she pressed her palm to her chest. His eyes. That gaze was burned into her mind. Dark, endless, consuming. It wasn't gentle, wasn't warm—it was powerful, dangerous, and yet... magnetic. She shivered, remembering the strength in his arms, how tightly they had held her when she stumbled.
Compared to his towering height, she had felt like a child. Fragile. Breakable. And his voice—low, deep, commanding—still echoed in her ears.
Piya shook her head violently, as if the motion could push the memories out. "No, no, no... stop thinking about this," she muttered, pacing the room. "This is bad. What if he got angry? What if he fires me tomorrow for disturbing him? I can't— I can't even face him again."
She turned to her window, pushing it open to let the cool night air in. The moon hung high, its light calm and silent.
"Mr. Moon," she whispered, hugging herself. "What do I do now? How do I hide from someone like him? He's not just a boss... he's something else. Someone I shouldn't even be near."
The moon, as always, offered no answers, only a silver glow.
Piya sighed, finally changing into her pajamas. She slipped beneath the covers, but her thoughts refused to rest. Over and over, she saw his eyes, his face, the way her body had trembled in his hold.
I'll just... stay invisible, she thought, closing her eyes tightly. As long as he doesn't notice me, I'll be safe.
But deep down, she knew—somehow—he had already noticed.
Meanwhile, across the city, the atmosphere was entirely different.
The grand family mansion of the Ashers glowed under golden chandeliers. Liam stepped inside with his usual calm, controlled air, handing his suit coat to a waiting servant.
At the far end of the hall, an older man—sharp-eyed despite his age, his presence radiating authority—sat waiting with a glass of brandy in hand.
"Liam," the man greeted eagerly, his voice carrying pride and expectation. "Finally, you've come. Tell me... who was that girl's voice I heard earlier? Don't think I missed it."
Liam's expression didn't shift. His face remained a mask of composure, his deep gaze steady.
"Was it someone important?" the old man pressed, leaning forward. "Is my grandson finally going to give me a granddaughter-in-law? Hm?"
Liam said nothing, only unbuttoning his cuffs with slow precision.
The old man sighed dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. "You don't love your old grandfather anymore. Not even a great-grandchild to keep me company in this lonely world."
Liam ignored the theatrics, draping his coat neatly on the chair.
"Fine, fine," his grandfather huffed. "If not that, then let's talk business. Your father's been restless. He thinks it's time you stop playing with your ShadowByte empire and take charge of the family company. And—" his eyes twinkled slyly, "he's even thinking of settling things by marrying you into his friend's family. Their daughter is a fine match."
At this, Liam finally looked up, his gaze sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.
The old man chuckled, unbothered by the intensity. "I know, I know. No one decides for Liam Asher. But one day, my boy, you'll have to choose. And when that day comes, I only hope you don't walk alone."
The room fell quiet, broken only by the soft clink of Liam pouring himself a glass of wine. His movements were calm, his face unreadable. But in his silence, there was a storm brewing—one no one could yet see.
And as he leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes lowered ever so slightly, as if remembering a pair of panicked, trembling eyes that had met his own.