The night hit differently the moment Rhys stepped out of the car.
The private venue didn't look like a party—it looked like a battlefield disguised in velvet. Soft gold lights washed over marble floors, the air humming with music, laughter, and the subtle scent of expensive perfume. Only the young, the powerful, and the reckless were invited tonight. Their parents might run empires, but they ruled nights like this.
Rhys adjusted the cuffs of his tailored black suit, the one that made him look like he belonged to this world even though he'd spent years avoiding it. His hair slicked back, jaw sharpened by resolve—he didn't look like the confused boy from earlier. He looked like a Hayes.
Eyes turned as he entered. Good. Let them watch.
Inside, everything was loud except the person he was searching for.
Seraphine Calder.
He spotted her near the balcony—dressed in deep wine red, a color chosen to make everyone else feel underdressed. Her hair framed her face like she was the center of the room, and maybe she was. People naturally parted around her, pulled in by the grace she pretended not to notice.
The moment she saw him, her lips curled into a knowing smile—soft, playful, dangerous.
"You made it," she said, stepping closer. "And you actually look good. I'm impressed, Hayes."
He leaned in slightly, matching her tone with a blade-thin smile. "I tend to exceed expectations."
She laughed, a soft low sound, unaware of the storm brewing behind his calm face.
Music shifted. Someone called her name. A toast, probably. Her birthday, her stage.
She raised a brow. "Stay close tonight. I want you beside me, Rhys."
His heart tightened for a moment—not with affection, but with the reminder of why he came.
He offered her his hand, deliberately slow.
"Of course, babe," he said, mocking the word just lightly enough that she couldn't call him out without sounding paranoid.
Seraphine took his hand anyway.
They walked together into the center of the room where people were gathering for her little midnight speech. Lights dimmed. She stepped onto a small platform, hand still loosely in his. He could feel her confidence radiating—hers, or the Calder name behind her.
Whispers spread through the crowd.
"Is that Rhys Hayes?"
"Thought he kept low."
"Why is he with her?"
"Hayes doesn't show up unless—"
Exactly what he wanted.
Seraphine lifted her glass. "Thank you all for coming—"
Rhys barely heard the rest. His eyes scanned the crowd, the faces watching them, the power dynamics shifting subtly in real time. Every heir, every rival, every person who mattered was here. The perfect place to start breaking her game.
He leaned close to her ear, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Let's make tonight unforgettable, Sera."
She looked at him, trying to read him—but his smile stayed perfectly steady.
For the first time, she felt something she never did.
Uncertainty.
The glass clinked softly when Rhys set it down, the burn of the liquor settling in his chest. He turned, letting the dim neon lights blur into streaks of violet and blue. The bass thrummed through the floor, loud enough to make the air itself feel drunk. Bodies moved everywhere — laughing, dancing, stumbling — a chaos he slipped through with surprising calm.
But Seraphine… she was nowhere.
His eyes scanned the room, sharp even in the haze of smoke and flashing lights. Then he saw the staircase — shadowed, barely noticeable unless someone knew what to look for.
Of course she'd be there.
He took the steps slow, drink dangling from his fingers, a smirk playing on his lips like he already expected trouble. At the top, he turned — and the smirk froze.
There she was.
Pressed against the wall, her fingers curled into someone's shirt, the stranger's hand gripping her waist. Their lips were locked — slow, deliberate, the kind of kiss that looked like a dare rather than affection. Her hair fell over her shoulder in soft waves, the moonlight from the hallway window catching the curve of her neck. The guy leaned in deeper, claiming her mouth like he had every right.
For a moment, something sharp flicked in Rhys's chest — annoyance, maybe. Or insult.
But then Seraphine's eyes opened.
She didn't pull away immediately. Just a flick of her gaze — a single heartbeat — meeting Rhys's eyes across the hall. His world went quiet for that one second. Her expression didn't break, didn't change, but something in her posture stiffened.
She pushed the guy away gently, almost too smoothly, and without a word slipped into the room behind her. The door clicked shut with a soft but final thud.
Rhys stared at the door.
Then he chuckled.
Low. Dark. Amused.
"Oh… this is way more complicated," he murmured under his breath, finishing the last sip of his drink.
And suddenly, the game felt bigger — and much more interesting.
Rhys's fingers loosened on the glass — just enough to make it look like an accident.
It slid from his hand, hit the top step, and shattered into sharp glittering pieces.
The liquor spilled in a thin trail, running down the stairs like a quiet golden stream.
He didn't even look at it.
A slow smirk pulled at his lips, the kind that didn't reach his eyes.
The kind that said game on.
With that same unbothered confidence, he stepped over the shards and descended the stairs. The broken glass crackled under his shoe, the music swallowing the sound as if the moment never happened.
By the time the last drop of the drink slipped off the final step, Rhys Hayes had already vanished back into the crowd — swallowed by the lights, the noise, and the chaos…
Ready to rewrite the night on his own terms.
Someone slammed into Rhys's shoulder out of nowhere.
"Sorry—" the guy muttered, then froze as he looked up.
"You're… Rhys, right?"
Rhys raised a brow. "Yeah?"
"Have you seen Kevin?" the stranger asked urgently, scanning the crowd like he'd lost something important.
Rhys shook his head once. "No idea."
The guy cursed under his breath and disappeared into the noise, leaving Rhys with a fleeting thought —
Who the hell is Kevin?
He pushed forward, weaving through bodies and lights, until someone caught his eye.
A girl sat slumped in a velvet chair at the side, downing her drink like it was water.
Too fast.
Too desperate.
He walked toward her, slow and deliberate.
She lifted her cup again just as she glanced up — and froze.
Her gaze snagged on him like she'd forgotten how to blink.
The drink tipped forward, spilling down the front of her dress in one messy streak.
"Oh—damn—" she gasped.
Rhys moved instantly. "Hold on."
He grabbed a napkin from the table and leaned down, blotting the fabric before the stain spread.
She stared openly at him, cheeks flushed — not entirely from the alcohol.
"He's such… a gentleman," she whispered under her breath. "I thought Kevin was the best but…"
His hand paused. He definitely heard that.
He straightened slightly, lifting a brow.
"Who's Kevin?"
Her entire fantasy shattered like glass.
Her eyes widened in embarrassment, mouth opening then closing like she couldn't believe she'd said it out loud.
"Uh—I—he's just… someone," she stammered.
Rhys's lips twitched — not quite a smile, but something dangerous.
The night was getting interesting....