She leaned against the polished black marble counter, the club's indigo lights casting shifting shadows across her face. Before she could order her drink, across the dimly lit space—a pair of dark blue eyes met hers.
Deep. Stormy. Holding secrets that tugged at something buried inside her.
They widened in unmistakable recognition.
A soft, involuntary gasp escaped her lips.
Because those eyes had haunted her every night ever since high school.
Back in boarding school, when she was untouchable on the outside and unraveling on the inside. Back when the Hale name was already both a crown and a cage. Before Derek. He had been the quiet senior from the scholarship side of the academy—brilliant, watchful, never quite fitting the polished mold despite being perfect in every way. Top in sports, excelling in every extracurricular, debate champion, the heart-throb every girl dreamed of—even if high society rarely preferred mingling with scholarship kids.
He hadn't changed much. Taller, broader, the boyish edges sharpened into something dangerously commanding and sinfully handsome. His dark hair was longer now, no longer the army-cut precision of his schooldays. A tailored black shirt lay open at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms.
His legs stretched across the space like they owned it, just like she remembered from those endless afternoons on the football field, powering through plays with effortless grace, wearing shorts so unforgiving they had once taught her that admiration for long, sexy legs—and a perfect ass—was not exclusive to men.
His dark blue eyes widened the moment they landed on her, a flash of raw surprise quickly giving way to something hotter, more intense. For a heartbeat, he simply stared—his gaze tracing over her face slowly, deliberately, as if his eyes alone were caressing her skin, memorizing every curve and shadow. Heat rushed through Seraphina; she gulped, her throat suddenly tight.
Then a broad, devastating grin spread across his face—slow, wicked, full of challenge. It was the kind of smile that dared you to strike a deal with the devil and know you'd savor every dangerous second.
He pushed off the bar where he'd been standing alone and closed the distance in unhurried strides. The crowd parted instinctively around him, sensing the quiet power he carried. Women turned as he passed, eyes widening, lips parting in soft gasps and whispers that rippled through the dim light.
"Oh my God, he's so handsome…"
" Is he a model?"
"No, I think that's the Langford CEO and Heir"
"The Langfords? They own over half of Athena City…"
Seraphina didn't move, rooted to the spot as he stopped close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating from him, close enough to catch the faint, intoxicating trace of his cologne—fresh pine mingled with warm smoked wood, wrapping around her like a promise.
Those storm-blue eyes locked onto hers, that daring, magnetic smirk still teasing at the corners of his lips—impossible to tear her gaze away from. His presence: the intoxicating blend of fresh pine and smoked wood clinging to him, utterly overpowered Seraphina the razor-sharp line of his jaw, the sheer, commanding strength of his tall, powerfully built frame.
She was so lost in him that she didn't even notice the bartender patiently waiting, eyebrows raised, for her order.
"I—" Seraphina stammered, her thoughts scattering like startled birds as she tried to remember what she'd been about to order. Her mind had gone completely blank, wiped clean by the electrifying nearness of this commanding man who stood far too close, his presence wrapping around her like heat from an open flame.
Without ever breaking that intense, storm-blue gaze locked on hers, he leaned just enough toward the bartender to place the order.
"She'll have a Lavender French 75—extra lavender syrup, chilled prosecco, and a twist of lemon on a sugared rim. Make it strong and extra sweet."
His grin widened slowly and wickedly, a flash of triumph gleaming in his eyes, as though he'd just staked a quiet, undeniable claim. The subtle dominance of the gesture sent a shiver racing down her spine.
"And I'll take a double rye, neat."
The bartender nodded, already turning to mix the drinks with practiced efficiency.
The Lavender French 75 arrived moments later: a delicate, pale-violet cocktail in a chilled flute, the rim glittering with fine sugar, a thin spiral of lemon peel curling elegantly over the edge. The scent rose softly—floral lavender, bright citrus, the crisp bite of gin beneath effervescent prosecco. Beautiful. Feminine. Unexpectedly potent.
Seraphina finally dragged her gaze away from those storm-blue eyes, heat flooding her cheeks as the reality of what had just happened sank in. She took a deep breath, trying to gather her wits.
"Alexander," she said, turning toward him, her voice steadier than the wild flutter in her chest. "I have no idea what that is." A small frown tugged at her brow as she glanced at the pale, shimmering cocktail in her hand.
"Trust me," he murmured, his storm-blue eyes holding hers with quiet certainty. "You'll like it."
She found herself nodding before she could think better of it—obeying the soft command in his tone as naturally as breathing.
He took a slow sip of his rye, watching her over the rim of the glass. Then, almost casually, he spoke again, his voice cool and smooth, edged with something sharper underneath.
"I didn't take you for the type to be out partying the night after your boyfriend proposed to your sister."
The words landed like a quiet slap.
Seraphina went still, lips parting, but no sound came out. She wasn't that type—not at all. Boardrooms, contracts, the clean precision of business deals—those were her territory. Not crowded bars. Not champagne toasts to someone else's happiness. Not this.
"I didn't come here to party about my public breakup," she said at last, the words scraping out rougher than intended. "I came here to… not think about it. To celebrate the fact that I'm still alive. And to celebrate it."
Something passed through his eyes. Alexander's gaze darkened, something protective and fierce flickering there. His hand slipped from her cheek to his side, and she almost missed the touch instantly.
Silence stretched between them, thick and charged.
Then his hand lifted, slow and deliberate, until his palm cupped her cheek. His thumb brushed along her cheekbone in a feather-light caress that sent heat spiraling through her. She couldn't move. Couldn't pull away.
Didn't want to.
What had happened to the shy, quiet senior from boarding school? The boy who had barely met her eyes in the library, who had blushed when others teased him about his perfect grades? When had he become this—this tall, broad-shouldered, devastatingly confident man who could unravel her with a single touch?
A soft, sad smile curved his mouth, something almost pained flickering in those storm-blue depths.
"He was never the man who deserved you," he said, his voice so low it was nearly lost beneath the hum of the bar, yet every word carved itself straight into her heart.
Seraphina's breath hitched at his words, the quiet conviction cutting deeper than she wanted to admit.
She searched Alexander's face, hunting for traces of the awkward, soft-spoken boy she had once known. But the man in front of her now was all sharp edges and quiet command, his palm still warm against her cheek, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles that made rational thought feel very far away.
He dropped his hand onto his palm. His eyes widening as if he had just comprehended what he had done. Seraphina missed the touch instantly.
A man emerged from behind them—brown-haired, tall though not as tall as Alexander, built lean and alert. "Sir, the Yangs are here."
Alexander nodded once, dismissing his assistant with a subtle flick of his fingers. Then he turned back to her, his storm-blue eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that stole the air from her lungs. His voice dropped to a low, velvet promise—intimate, undeniable.
"Tomorrow. Two-twenty sharp. My office. We'll talk about your stocks… and whatever else you need."
He didn't wait for her reply.
Instead, he leaned in just a fraction closer, his sleeve brushing deliberately against her bare arm—a fleeting touch that sent a trail of heat racing across her skin. Then he was gone, melting into the crowd with the same unhurried grace, leaving behind only the lingering warmth of his presence and the faint trace of his cologne in the air.
Seraphina stood frozen, cocktail still untouched in her hand, her pulse thundering in her ears.
She would be there.
Whatever game this devil was playing—
She was already in.