The ride to the party felt unreal. Lia was practically buzzing beside me, talking a mile a minute about who might be there, what drinks to order, and how everyone was going to notice us. I clutched my clutch nervously, staring at my reflection in the rearview mirror.
I had never dressed like this before. My usual jeans-and-tee uniform replaced with a sleek, deep emerald gown that hugged my curves in ways I hadn't dared show. It dipped modestly at the chest, clung gently at my waist, and flared slightly at the hem. My heels gave me height I wasn't used to, and the soft, chic makeup—bronzed eyelids, a touch of highlighter, light rose lips—felt like I was wearing a mask of someone I almost didn't recognize.
"You look… wow," Lia said, her eyes wide and approving as I stepped out of the car.
I frowned. "Don't make me self-conscious, Lia."
"Self-conscious?" she laughed, adjusting her own outfit—a daring black mini dress that left little to the imagination. The dress clung to her slim waist, hugged her hips, and her ass… oh, her ass. It made men stare, eyes practically following her as she strutted forward with complete confidence. I had always known Lia turned heads, but tonight… she owned it.
I forced a deep breath and followed her, heels clicking on the marble floor of the venue. The party was alive: lights flashing, music thumping, laughter and chatter swirling together. Drinks were being poured, bodies moving, the air heavy with perfume and expensive cologne. I felt like I had stepped into a different world.
We had barely entered when I noticed the VIP section. Elevated slightly above the main floor, surrounded by velvet ropes and low lights, a table of men lounged with an effortless command over the room. They had bottles of the finest champagne, glasses catching the ambient glow, ice clinking softly as they spoke and laughed.
And there he was. Femi Caldwell.
Even at a distance, he had a presence that silenced the chaos around him. He leaned back casually in his chair, dark tailored suit impeccably cut, crisp white shirt open at the collar, no tie, but every inch of him screamed power. A subtle gold watch peeked from under his sleeve, cufflinks catching the light as he gestured to his friends. The way he held himself—calm, composed, deliberate—made him look unapproachable and magnetic all at once.
His friends laughed at something he said, clearly wealthy men themselves, but Femi didn't need to raise his voice. The quiet authority in his posture, the ease with which he surveyed the party, drew attention without effort. Expensive brands, subtle accessories, perfectly fitted clothes....all mere background to the strength he radiated.
And then… he looked toward us.
I didn't notice him at first; I was still trying to adjust to the sudden attention and Lia practically dragging me toward the bar. But something in the corner of my vision shifted. I caught his gaze briefly, sharp but not harsh.
He didn't smile. He didn't nod. He didn't move. He just… noticed.
And for some reason, the stillness of his attention made me aware of every detail—the way my gown clung to me, how I fidgeted with my clutch, how my nerves made me straighten instinctively. It wasn't the usual kind of attention that made my cheeks flush or my heart race. It was quiet. Powerful. Observant.
And I realized, before I even fully understood why, that I couldn't look away.