The soft, lingering warmth of Adrian's hand still echoed against my skin as I stepped off the stage, my heart racing like it wanted to escape my chest. The music, which had once swept me up in its rhythm, now faded into the background, leaving only the raw, electric pulse between us. It wasn't the dance itself that had left me shaken, though I couldn't deny the power of our synchronized movements. No, it was the connection we'd shared on that stage.
His touch had been simple, yet it reverberated through me, like a spark setting off a chain reaction. My body trembled not from exertion, but from the intensity of it all, the weight of that shared space with him still pressing against my chest.
I walked slowly toward Joan, my legs still carrying the weight of the moment, the feeling of Adrian's presence like a shadow that refused to let go. My thoughts swirled around that moment, circling in my mind, but all I could focus on was the unspoken tension that lingered between us. Joan's gaze followed me, unwavering, her amusement evident as she sipped her drink, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
"Damn," she murmured as I approached. "That was… intense."
I didn't answer immediately. My mind was still caught in the whirlwind of our brief connection. The way he had moved with such effortless confidence, the way he had seemed to pull me into his orbit without even trying. How his hand had felt like it had imprinted itself onto me, marking me in a way I couldn't explain.
"Are you okay?" Joan's voice was softer now, a hint of concern slipping through her usual teasing tone.
I let out a shaky breath and nodded. "I'm fine. I think."
Joan didn't let me off that easily. She gave me a look half concern, half amused. I could see her carefully watching me, waiting for the crack in my composure to show. "You think?"
I shrugged, still feeling the buzz of it all under my skin. The space between us felt suddenly too small, like everything was too loud and too bright. It was hard to catch my breath, harder still to make sense of what had just happened.
She tilted her head, smirking. "Told you this party would be worth it. You doubted me."
A soft laugh escaped me, but it felt a little hollow. "I didn't say I was wrong."
Joan looped her arm through mine, as if she'd been waiting for me all night. Her smile was infectious, her energy a perfect counterbalance to the strange, heavy thing that had settled in my chest. "Come on," she said with a grin. "Let's get you a drink before your legs give out."
The crowd parted easily for her, as if they instinctively made way for someone who moved with that kind of magnetic confidence. Joan moved like she belonged—like the music was composed for her steps and the lights dimmed just for her to shine. I let her guide me through clusters of laughing strangers in glittering gowns and sharp tuxedos, their conversations floating like soft jazz.
We reached the bar, and the server, dressed all in black, nodded at us without needing to be told what we wanted. Joan didn't even have to ask. "Two of the red, please."
I glanced around, watching as people clinked glasses and posed for pictures, all of them carefully curated and polished. This wasn't just a party; it was a show. A spectacle of wealth and beauty where people didn't simply show up. Maybe Joan had been right. Maybe this place had a kind of magic, or maybe it was just the way it let you pretend, even for one night, that you were someone else. Someone who belonged here.
Joan handed me a glass of something golden and fizzy. "To dancing with danger," she said playfully, raising hers in a toast.
I clinked mine against hers, the bubbles tickling my lips, but even that felt distant. The heat of Adrian's presence still lingered, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted in me.
She was mid-sentence, recounting how a guy in red velvet shoes had tried to flirt using stock market terms, when a shadow fell over us. I turned and there he was.
Adrian.
He stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets, his eyes finding mine like he'd never stopped looking. The music dipped into something slower, sultrier, like the air had changed with him in it. Around us, the party continued in a blur of color and laughter, but everything narrowed to just that look, that gaze that seemed to hold secrets I wasn't ready for. I felt an inexplicable pull toward him, like gravity had shifted, and now he was the center of my world.
"Sorry to interrupt," he said, nodding politely at Joan before his gaze settled back on me. "But… would you mind taking a photo with me?"
My mouth parted slightly, unsure how to respond. His words weren't a question so much as an invitation, a request wrapped in something more, something that made my heart stutter.
Joan raised a brow, clearly entertained. "She charges for pictures, you know," she teased, sipping her drink, but her voice was laced with an edge I couldn't ignore.
Adrian smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "That's fair."
I blinked, unsure if that was a joke or something else entirely, but the weight of the moment lingered, and I was too curious to back away now. He held out his phone. "It's just that my manager's around here somewhere. Said she wants a few shots for the gallery's socials. I figured… it'd look better with you in it."
The way he said "with you in it," soft and deliberate, hit me harder than it should have. My fingers tightened around the glass, and for a second, I wondered if this was really just about a picture.
I glanced at Joan, who gave me the most unnecessary wink ever before turning away to give us privacy.
"Alright," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
Adrian stepped closer, his scent brushing against me again—woodsy, clean. I tried to focus, tried to tell myself this was just a photo, but the way he angled the phone toward us, the way his presence seemed to close the space between us, made it impossible to ignore. Just before the shutter clicked, he leaned in slightly, not touching, but close enough for the air between us to buzz.
The photo snapped.
"You always take pictures with strangers?" I asked, trying to keep it light, but I knew I was stalling, buying myself time to breathe.
He looked at me, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "Only the ones I can't forget."
Adrian
My chest felt tight, like I'd been holding my breath too long. For a moment, everything around us seemed to blur—just the two of us, the soft hum of the party receding as the weight of the exchange settled between us.
I could've stayed like this, just a few inches away from her forever, but I didn't want to push. Not yet. The distance was everything, but it also felt impossibly small, a thread barely holding us apart.
I pulled out my business card with deliberate slowness, feeling the cool edge between my fingers. It felt almost foreign in my hand.
I extended it to her with a small, almost hesitant smile. "Wondering if we could meet some other time," I said, my voice quiet but certain, weighted with something more than just the offer of a future meeting. I wasn't just asking for her time; I was asking for the possibility of something—more moments, more of this undeniable connection that still hummed in my veins.
Her gaze flickered down to the card, then back up to me, her expression unreadable. But I could see the subtle shift—the way her posture softened just a little, like she was
allowing herself a moment of possibility, of curiosity..
Her fingers brushed against mine as she took the card, a fleeting touch that sent another wave of heat through me. I could feel her hesitation, but there was something else there, something unspoken in the way her eyes lingered on mine. She wasn't pulling away, not yet. That gave me hope, but it also left me wondering how far I could push before I crossed some invisible line.
For a moment, she just looked at the card in her hand, turning it over like she was trying to find something in the details.
When she finally looked up, the air around us shifted again. There was a flicker of something in her eyes—soft curiosity, but with a touch of wariness, as if she was testing the waters before deciding whether to dive in.
She nodded, slipping the card into her clutch, her movements as fluid as the jazz humming in the background. I didn't press her. Something told me she wasn't used to being cornered. I wasn't in the mood to chase either. Not yet.
The music shifted, velvet smooth now, coaxing the crowd into deeper corners of the room. Glasses clinked. Laughter curled through the air like expensive perfume. This was my night, and it was unfolding just the way I wanted it.
I moved through the space, offering nods, brief smiles, and measured handshakes to faces I knew too well. But my gaze kept drifting. Back to her.
She stood by a piece titled Fractured, all cracked gold on deep black canvas. Fitting.
I wanted to go to her again, say something else. But I didn't. I needed to give her space to breathe, to think, to feel whatever it was she was feeling without me clouding it. So I watched, quietly, from across the room, sipping a drink I couldn't even taste.
Then the lights dimmed further, and a hush rippled through the crowd like a secret passed from person to person. A soft instrumental version of At Last filtered through the speakers, drawing everyone's attention toward the stage at the center of the gallery. A tall, elegant woman in a champagne-colored gown stepped forward, microphone in hand, her voice velvet smooth.
"Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention," she said with a practiced smile. "We'd like to invite you all to join us in celebrating the night properly… with the cutting of the cake."
Polite applause followed, but my eyes were already drifting—searching.
And there she was.
She had rejoined Joan, and they were making their way toward the stage area, her silhouette framed in gold light. She looked otherworldly, like something out of a dream I hadn't realized I'd been having. The hum of conversation returned as people moved in clusters, champagne flutes glinting under the soft lights.
The cake itself was a work of art—three-tiered, sleek and modern, adorned with edible gold leaf and delicate black roses. It sat under a suspended glass chandelier, casting crystals of light over it like blessing.
I made my way toward the group just as the host invited the gallery's benefactor and a few of us to come up for the ceremonial slice. My manager shot me a look, subtle but firm. "Photo ," she mouthed.
I gave a tight nod and stepped up, the flash of cameras already beginning.
Then I saw Nia again—closer now, standing just a few feet away.
I reached for the knife, silver and heavy in my hand, and just before making the first cut, I looked directly at her. Our eyes locked. I smiled—not the rehearsed one, not the one I gave the press or the patrons, but something smaller, real. I wanted her to see that.
Then the blade slid down through buttercream and velvet sponge.
More applause. Laughter. Glasses raised again.
I stepped down, and instinct guided my steps toward her once more. I offered her the first slice, the small plate balanced in my hand, a fork perched on the edge like a delicate offering.
The room hummed with soft laughter and the clinking of glasses as I offered her the first slice of cake. She took the small plate from me, our fingers brushing together, and I couldn't help but notice how soft her skin felt against mine.
She glanced at the cake, its intricate layers and delicate gold leaf so beautiful it almost seemed wrong to cut into it. But then the music changed, a slower, more intimate tune weaving through the room. I saw her glance toward the dance floor, and without even thinking, I stepped closer, extending my hand toward her.
"Shall we?" I asked, my voice lower than usual, the question feeling more like an invitation than anything else.
She didn't hesitate. Her hand slid into mine, and we moved seamlessly into the rhythm, the noise of the party fading as if it had never existed. The floor was still warm under our feet, but there was something about the space around us that felt smaller, more intimate. It was just the two of us.
Her eyes met mine, and I could tell she was just as aware of every little detail as I was—every shift in our movement, every touch, the way our bodies were in sync without even trying. The music wrapped around us like a soft blanket, and with every step, the tension between us seemed to ease, even though I knew it was still there, lingering.
We danced together, slow and steady, until the song came to a gentle end. The room erupted into applause, but I didn't want to break the spell just yet. We stood there for a moment, holding each other in the silence that followed, our breath steady, our bodies close but not quite touching.
I reluctantly pulled back, giving her a small smile. "Thank you for indulging me," I said, my voice a little rougher than I intended.
Her smile was soft, almost shy, but there was a warmth in her eyes that made my chest tighten. "It was perfect," she replied, her words lingering in the air between us.
I looked at her for a beat longer, something unspoken passing between us, before I stepped back, letting the buzz of the party slowly creep back into my awareness. I needed a moment, space to process everything that had just happened.
The music picked up again, the crowd scattering into smaller groups, laughing and talking. But I couldn't help but look back at her as she made her way toward the doo
r, Joan appearing at her side, her arm looping through hers.
"Think that's my cue," I muttered to myself, turning to find a quieter corner.