The invitation came exactly one week later.
An email. Clean. Professional. Polite.
Camille Group – Contract Signing
Time: 10:30 a.m.
Location: Camille Estate
Zane read it three times before forwarding it to his mom with twelve exclamation points.
By the time the car pulled up in front of the gates, his palms were damp again.
He told himself this was routine. Business. Paperwork. Nothing to overthink.
Still—his heart picked up the moment he stepped inside.
The mansion was quieter than before.
Not empty. Not silent. Just… hushed.
Then—
Music.
Violin.
Zane stopped walking.
The sound wasn't soft. It wasn't background noise. It sliced through the space with sharp precision, notes rising and falling with disciplined elegance. It pulled him forward without permission.
Adrien Camille stood near the tall windows, violin tucked beneath his jaw, posture immaculate. His movements were controlled to the point of cruelty, bow gliding like it had a mind of its own.
Zane forgot where he was.
Forgot why he was there.
He just stared.
Adrien's eyes lifted.
They locked.
The bow halted mid-stroke.
The sound died instantly.
Twenty seconds stretched between them—unmoving, unblinking.
Adrien frowned.
Not confusion.
Not surprise.
Annoyance.
Zane swallowed.
Something about the way Adrien looked at him—like he was an intrusion, like he'd stepped into a space he wasn't meant to occupy—sent a strange pulse through his chest.
A man cleared his throat beside him. "Mr. Harper?"
Zane flinched. "Yeah—sorry."
As he was gently guided away, he glanced back.
Adrien was still staring.
His violin teacher—a woman well into her seventies, hair perfectly pinned—leaned toward him.
"Pourquoi t'es-tu arrêté?" she asked sharply. "You never stop mid-piece. Start again."
Adrien inhaled once.
Reset.
The bow lifted.
The music resumed, flawless and cold.
Lucien Camille's office felt unchanged—polished wood, glass, power radiating from every surface.
Zane sat across from the desk, hands folded, spine straight.
Lucien slid a folder toward him.
"The contract," he said. "Take your time."
Zane opened it.
Read.
Then froze.
Joint commercial appearance:
Adrien Cho-Camille & Zane Calloway
His eyes skimmed the paragraph again.
And again.
He blinked twice.
Cleared his throat.
Lucien watched him closely but said nothing.
Zane's pulse roared in his ears.
A man to Lucien's left stepped forward, placing a sleek black pen beside the folder.
Zane picked it up.
Signed.
Just like that.
Lucien nodded approvingly. "Good. I'll have the schedule emailed to you."
They stood. Shook hands.
Lucien's grip was firm, assessing.
"You represent more than yourself now," Lucien said calmly.
Zane met his gaze. "I won't forget that."
He was escorted out moments later.
Adrien was still there.
Still playing.
The melody had changed—lower, darker, sharper. Zane slowed as he passed, unsure why his feet refused to keep moving.
Then, without planning to—
"You're really good," he said.
The bow stopped.
Adrien looked up slowly.
Stared.
Zane chuckled under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry. That was random."
Silence.
Then Adrien said, cool and clipped, "Thank you."
Zane smiled—small, genuine. "See you around."
Adrien watched him leave.
Didn't return to playing for a long moment after.
Zane burst through the apartment door like he was twelve again.
"I SIGNED IT."
His mom gasped. "You—what?"
He held up the folder.
She rushed him, hugging him so tightly his ribs protested.
"You did it," she whispered. "You really did it."
Zane laughed, dizzy with relief, adrenaline, and something he didn't want to name.
That evening, Lucien called Adrien into his study.
"You'll be filming a commercial," Lucien said.
Adrien nodded. "With whom?"
Lucien looked up. "Zane Calloway."
Adrien froze.
"…Excuse me?"
"The MMA athlete," Lucien continued. "You'll work together."
Adrien stared at him, then looked away. "Fine."
He left without another word.
In the hallway, his female bodyguard stepped closer.
"Sir," she said. "Your date is tonight."
Adrien groaned.
"Fantastic," he muttered.