Ace
Ace had learned how to exist in rooms without being touched by them.
Galas, meetings, parties draped in gold and expectation—they were all the same. Smile when required. Speak when spoken to. Let people believe you were exactly what they expected. It had been working for years.
Until Mia Harrington.
He felt her before he saw her.
It was subtle, the shift in the air, the way his attention sharpened without permission. She entered the room in a deep shade of red that made something in his chest tighten unpleasantly. Not because she was beautiful—he'd stopped reacting to beauty a long time ago—but because she wore it like armor, chin lifted, gaze steady, untouchable.
She didn't look at him.
That should have been a relief.
Instead, it annoyed him.
"Camille," he said absently as the woman beside him leaned closer, her hand brushing his sleeve. His father's friend's daughter. Polite company. Safe company. Someone he didn't have to think about.
She was talking, smiling, laughing softly at something he barely heard. His eyes betrayed him, drifting back across the room.
Mia stood with a man Ace didn't recognize. Too close. The man leaned in, clearly interested, and Mia didn't move away. She smiled—small, controlled, but real enough to set Ace's teeth on edge.
He didn't like this feeling.
It was sharp and possessive and completely irrational.
Camille followed his gaze. "Do you know her?"
Ace blinked. "No."
It was a lie.
Or at least, it felt like one.
Mia turned then, her eyes finding his like she'd known he was watching. Something flickered across her expression—surprise, maybe irritation—before her face smoothed back into indifference.
It shouldn't have mattered.
It did.
He excused himself without fully realizing he was doing it, moving toward the bar just as Mia approached from the opposite side. They stopped short when they noticed each other, tension snapping into place like a live wire.
"Didn't take you for the type to get jealous," he said, because silence would have been worse.
Her eyes sharpened. "Excuse me?"
He nodded subtly toward the man she'd been with. "You seemed… entertained."
Her laugh was quick and cutting. "That's bold, coming from you."
Something dark passed through his chest. "Oh?"
She glanced toward Camille, still nearby. "What is it with you? You treat women like accessories."
The accusation struck closer than he expected.
"You're assuming things," he said quietly.
"And you're not?" she replied. "Or is this the part where you tell me it's none of my business?"
The truth rose instinctively, automatic and cruel.
"It is none of your business."
He saw it then—the smallest fracture in her composure. She masked it quickly, straightening, lifting her chin.
"Good," she said coolly. "Because I don't care."
She walked away before he could stop her.
Ace stayed where he was, staring at the space she'd left behind, chest tight with something that felt dangerously close to regret.
Later, when the room had grown louder and the music softer, James found him near the balcony.
"You look miserable," James observed. "That's new."
Ace exhaled slowly. "She thinks I'm exactly what I pretend to be."
James followed his gaze toward the exit Mia had taken earlier. "And that bothers you."
Ace didn't answer.
Because the truth was unsettling and unwanted and very, very real.
Mia Harrington didn't trust him.
And for the first time in his life, Ace Laurent wanted someone to look at him and see more than what he allowed the world to believe.
That scared him more than love ever could.