Jace
There was a certain silence that came with heartbreak.
Not the loud, crashing kind. Not the kind people wrote songs about.
No, this silence was quieter. Deeper. It slipped into your bones and stayed there. Like a ghost.
Jace Carter stared out the tinted window of the black SUV, the city lights of Los Angeles blurring past. His manager, Lydia, was still talking beside him, probably about another endorsement deal or an interview he didn't care about. He wasn't listening. Not really.
He hadn't really felt anything since the last breakup.
The tabloids had eaten it up. "Jace Carter's Love Life Crashes Again." "Third Time's Not the Charm."
They didn't know the half of it.
"Jace, are you even hearing me?" Lydia snapped, snapping him back to reality. "This charity gala tonight is important. Just smile, wave, say a few kind words, and try not to look like you want to disappear."
Too late for that, he thought.
"Got it," he muttered, tugging at the collar of his tailored black suit. It felt too tight—like everything in his life lately.
The car rolled to a stop in front of the venue. Flashbulbs went off the second he stepped out, the familiar chorus of shouted questions and fan screams echoing around him.
But his smile was hollow. A practiced mask.
Inside, the ballroom sparkled with chandeliers and artificial laughter. Jace moved through the crowd like a ghost in a place he didn't belong. Everyone wanted something—from his fame, his face, his name.
And then he saw her.
She wasn't dressed to stand out, yet she did. Her presence was quiet, unassuming. She stood near the refreshment table, nervously adjusting the hem of her dress, her eyes scanning the crowd—until they landed on him.
Not in the way fans usually looked at him.
There was no desperation. No lust. No awe.
Just... warmth. Recognition. Like she saw through the layers of his carefully built walls.
Their eyes locked. She didn't look away.
And somehow, neither did he.