The room smelled of expensive perfume, polished shoes, and ambition. Ethan Vale hated galas—he hated the forced smiles, the clinking glasses, the empty praise. But tonight was necessary. Investors, celebrities, and politicians all under one glittering chandelier. Power wore many faces, and tonight he needed to command them all.
That's when he saw her.
Lena Moore. The woman who should have been invisible among the glittering crowd, yet she wasn't. She was loud in a quiet way, confident without arrogance. And irritatingly, she smiled at him as if he were a commoner trespassing in her world.
"Are you always this… smug?" she asked, a soft laugh in her tone. She had no idea who he was. Or maybe she did, and she was daring him to react.
Ethan's dark eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
"I asked if you're always this… insufferable," she said, tilting her head, lips curved like she was savoring a private joke.
A spark ignited in Ethan—not irritation, exactly, but fascination. She dared to challenge him. And most women didn't. Most bowed, smiled, or whispered their admiration.
She didn't.
"I think you have me mistaken for someone who cares what you think," he said, voice calm, controlled, but every word had the edge of a dare.
Her eyes flickered, a flash of amusement—or was it challenge?—before she stepped back. "Good. Keep it that way. Some of us don't enjoy being charmed by billionaires."
Ethan's pulse quickened more than it should. She didn't even know him, yet here she was, unshaken, untouchable. And he liked it.
By the end of the night, he had watched her from across the room, noting how she laughed genuinely, untouched by pretense. He hated that he wanted to know her name.
And he hated it even more that he knew he'd find a way to make her belong to his world.