Chapter 1 The spark of chaos

Sophia's POV

The chandelier glittered like countless diamonds over the grand hall, its shine matching the sparkle of the New York elite below.

I felt out of place. "Sophia, you don't belong here" I muttered to myself. Not with my borrowed dress, imitation heels, and the anxiety bubbling within this gala night tonight was not about blending in. It was about being noticed, about Changing my life, and seeking an opportunity that would help me achieve my dreams.

I held my portfolio close, a treasure of sketches that I had invested my heart into for months. The designs were daring, bold, and far too ambitious for someone like me, an aspiring fashion designer just getting by in a Brooklyn apartment that permanently smelled of ramen and fabric dye.

Yet tonight, ambition triumphed over fear. I looked around the room, searching for a target. Someone influential, someone who could grant me a chance, and I would approach him or her without minding if I would be rejected.

Just to try my luck. Prestige Fashion's annual gala was filled with them, moguls and tycoons mingling with supermodels and celebrities.

I just needed one chance to introduce myself before security figured out I was not on the guest list. That's when I spotted him.

He was standing by the bar, tall and authoritative, his fitted black suit hugging him perfectly. His dark hair was stylishly messy, and his sharp jawline was as defined as the sculptures adorning the space.

But it was his eyes that captivated me, piercing at him, frigid and calculating as they scanned the crowd, as if he owned everything.

Perhaps he did. I didn't know his identity, but something about him exuded power, and I was desperate enough to seize my opportunity. My stomach churned as I went close to him, gripping my champagne flute firmly as if it were a lifeline.

"Excuse me, sir," I said, attempting to keep my voice steady. "I'm Sophia. Do you happen to know where I could find someone from Prestige's design team? I've been looking for a means to show them something."

He directed his gaze toward me, and suddenly it seemed like he had forgotten how to breathe. Up close, his presence was even more magnetic than I thought when I was far from him.

He examined me for a few moments with a slight smirk, his eyes dropping to the portfolio in my grasp. "And what precisely are you so eager to show them?" He finally asked. His voice was smooth, rich, and full of curiosity.

"My designs." I said, and I tightened my grip on the portfolio, my heart racing. "I'm a designer, well, aspiring to be. I've put months into these, and I just need one person to see them. Just one."

His smirk widened, and he took a slow sip of his drink. "You're determined, I'll give you that. But crashing a gala isn't exactly the typical way to get attention." Heat crept to my cheeks.

"Sometimes,"I said "the unconventional is the only path. Besides, isn't fashion all about embracing risks?"

He laughed, a deep, smooth sound that sent chills down my spine. "Good point. Let me take a look at what you've got."

I paused briefly before handing over the portfolio to him. He flipped through it with a skilled eye, slowly going through each of them one after the other; his expression was unreadable.

"These are remarkable," he finally stated, closing the portfolio and meeting my eyes. "You've got real talent." My chest filled with pride, but before I could reply, he added, "But talent alone won't cut it in this field. You need connections, wealth, and power. Do you have any of those?"

The pride he displayed was too much, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. "Not yet," I confessed.

"Then it looks like you have a long journey ahead of you." He returned the portfolio, his fingers grazing mine. A surge of electricity coursed through me, and I wondered if he sensed it too.

"Thanks for the wake-up call," I said, forcing a smile. "But I refuse to back down."

His smirk reappeared, more entertained than before. "Good. Giving up is never the best way."

The atmosphere around us was filled with tension, unsaid yet undeniable. I should have walked away, thanked him for his time, and left with my pride intact when he asked if I could join him in a drink.

But I didn't. Instead, I allowed him to buy me a drink. One drink led to two, then three, and another one, and by the time we staggered into the elevator of a penthouse hotel, my head was spinning not from the alcohol, but from him.

The room was a haze of silk sheets and warmth. His touch was like fire, his kisses engulfing me. So hot that I couldn't resist him. I didn't even know him much; I just met him for the first time, but at that moment, it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was how he handled me.

Each kiss, each caress, each whispered word erased the burden of my struggles.

For one night, I wasn't the girl barely managing her life. I was simply a woman desirable, sought after, and alive.

When I awoke the following morning, the sunlight pouring through the curtains was a harsh reminder of the real world. Bringing me back to my senses.

My head pounded, my dress lay wrinkled on the floor, and the stranger next to me looked far too serene for someone who had just turned my life upside down.

I quietly got out of bed, careful not to awaken him, and gathered my belongings. My heart raced as I escaped the room, heading downstairs, guilt nibbling at the edges of my contentment.

What on earth had I done? What have I gotten myself into?

What if Daniel, my boyfriend, finds out? How will I explain that it wasn't intentional? Hours later, while I sat in my small apartment, sipping coffee and trying to erase the memory of his touch, an email pinged on my phone.