es, gold-dusted hors d'oeuvres, and waiters in white gloves moved like shadows across marble floors. I stood at the edge of it all, cradling a drink I couldn't pronounce in a dress I couldn't af

before your brain could function. His suit was pitch black. Fitted like it had been stitched to his sins. A crystal tumbler sat in his hand. And his eyes-storm-grey and knife-sharp-locked onto mine like he already knew my name. Why did he look so familiar? And more importantly, why was he watching me? He didn't smile. Didn't blink. Just raised his glass in a lazy salute. A single slow smirk ghosted his lips, sharp as his cheekbones. "Alara?" Percy nudged my side. "You okay?" I didn't look away. "Who's that man?" Percy turned to follow my gaze. "Oh... damn. That's Ace Wolfe." I blinked. "The Ace Wolfe?" "Mmhmm," she said, lowering her voice. "Heir to Wolfe Empire. Old money. Tech, fashion, media-he basically owns half the modern world. Clarke said he only came because her dad begged. Rumor is, he hates parties." Of course. A senator's party was exactly the kind of place someone like him would grace with silence. I turned back to look at the balcony. But he was gone. Just like that. Gone-but the weight of his stare still clung to my skin like silk. ⸻ The rooftop came alive again. Laughter, glasses clinking, camera flashes like fireflies. Clarke was dancing now, glitter caught in her hair, twirling through her birthday like a socialite in a Vogue spread. I tried to breathe. But I could still feel him. I slipped away toward the quieter hallway near the elevators, heart still hammering. The music dimmed to a muffled hum. Gold sconces lined the walls. Velvet carpet. Everything still sparkled. And then... He was there. Leaning casually against a marble column, as if he'd stepped straight out of a