Rhys introduced himself and slipped into the seat beside her. Hazel blinked twice, cheeks warming instantly as she tried to straighten herself.
"Uh—hi. I'm Hazel. Hazel Chen," she managed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Rhys's gaze flicked to the half-empty glass in her hand—the way her fingers trembled around it—while Hazel stayed completely lost in the sharp lines of his face.
"So…" he prompted casually, leaning back in his chair, voice smooth enough to steady her shaking.
She exhaled, then spoke the one name that made his attention sharpen immediately.
"Kevin and Sera are meant to be together."
His eyes narrowed with interest.
Hazel continued, unaware of the storm she had just set off inside him. "Their fathers… both are in politics. They've known each other forever. Apparently they were even set up for a blind date. I'm not sure how it went, but—who knows? They might actually end up together."
Rhys drifted into silence, thoughts turning darker, colder. Hazel frowned, noticing the shift, and leaned a little closer.
"By the way…" she hesitated, nervous but curious, "are you also interested in Sera?"
Rhys had given Hazel a soft smile before she drifted back into her drinking. Hours slipped by, the music dimmed, and the once-crowded party slowly emptied until only echoes and shadows remained.
That's when Sera noticed him.
Rhys had fallen asleep on the couch—quiet, untouched by the chaos around him. She hesitated at first, then walked toward him, heels silent against the marble floor. The moonlight pouring through the tall window washed over his face, turning him almost unreal.
His soft brown curls were a little messy, falling over his forehead. His skin looked impossibly clear, glowing in the silver light. And his lips—soft coral, shaped like they'd been cared for—parted slightly as he breathed in a slow, steady rhythm.
His tall frame was spread across the couch, neck resting against the back, his long fingers relaxed on his thighs. No tension, no sharpness, none of the fire he carried when awake. Just peace. Absolute peace.
For the first time, Sera truly let herself look at him.
Really look.
He felt like art—carefully crafted, effortlessly perfect.
A masterpiece left asleep in a room that didn't deserve him.
"What an incredible human," she thought, surprised by the softness forming in her chest.
What an unexpected, unguarded side of him she had never seen before.
And in that moment, she wasn't Seraphine Calder, the strategist, the manipulator, the woman who held her empire like a blade.
She was just a girl staring at someone who suddenly felt… different.
Seraphine watched him for a few more quiet seconds, something unfamiliar warming her chest. She turned away before she could think too much, her heels clicking lightly against the floor as she moved toward the terrace. Without realizing it, a small smile—soft, unguarded—pulled at her lips.
The night air welcomed her the moment she stepped outside. A gentle breeze brushed against her skin, lifting strands of her hair and letting them dance across her face. She stood at the edge of the terrace fence, looking up at the sky. The moonlight washed over her, turning her into something ethereal—glowing, serene, almost untouchable. For the first time that night, she felt quiet. Honest. Herself.
But the calm didn't last.
The moment she turned, she froze.
There he was.
Rhys.
Leaning against the doorway, watching her. Not with suspicion. Not with anger. But with something deeper… something unreadable.
He stepped forward—slow, deliberate. Each footstep echoed lightly, but his gaze never left her. Under the pale glow, her features looked impossibly soft; he had seen her fierce, sharp, untouchable… but this version of her? It was disarming.
She didn't move. Didn't speak.
Rhys came closer, close enough for the breeze to shift from her hair to his shirt, close enough to see her chest rise with a quiet breath.
There was no music now. No crowd. Just them suspended in moonlight, staring at each other like both were trying to decode something they weren't ready to name.
Her dress was still marked with faint champagne stains, the fabric clinging to her in the cold breeze. She didn't bother fixing it. She stood there, glowing beneath the moonlight, messy and breathtaking all at once.
Rhys moved toward her, each slow step turning heavier with the tension between them. When he finally reached her, their chests brushed—light, accidental, but enough to make the air shift.
She didn't pull back.
Instead, she leaned farther against the terrace fence. The cold metal pressed against the small of her back as she let herself tilt, letting gravity take her. Trusting him.
Rhys caught her instantly.
His arm wrapped firmly around her waist, supporting her as she arched backward over the edge—her body suspended, her short hair falling like silk threads toward the open air. Her eyes fluttered, half from the adrenaline, half from the warmth of his grip.
The night was silent except for their breaths.
With his free hand, Rhys slowly lifted his coat. He draped it around her shoulders with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the intensity in his eyes.
And then—without breaking his hold around her waist—his fingers moved.
They found the ribbon at the back of her dress, the one delicately tied near her spine. His touch brushed her skin for the briefest moment before he tugged, pulling the ribbon loose.
The fabric shifted.
Her breath caught in her throat, her heart pressing against her ribs. Rhys didn't drop his gaze, didn't look away—not from her, not from the vulnerable softness she never let anyone see.
He pulled her upright again, slow and steady, the coat falling perfectly around her form as the loosened dress slipped beneath it. She stood there in front of him—wrapped in his coat, wrapped in his silence, wrapped in something neither of them were ready to admit.
The ribbon he had undone fluttered at her back like a secret between them.
He stepped away first.
She didn't move.
Rhys turned to walk away, his shirt still slightly wrinkled where her fingers had been, the night's cold brushing his arms — because his coat was still draped around her shoulders.
He took a single step—
Clack.
Her heels struck the stone behind him.
A sharp, confident sound that made him freeze.
Before he could fully turn, her hand held his shoulder with a small tug. With one firm pull, she spun him back to her, closing the distance in an instant. The coat he'd wrapped around her slipped slightly down one shoulder, exposing her collarbone to the moonlight.
And then she kissed him.
No hesitation. No warning.
Her lips pressed onto his, soft but demanding, tasting faintly of champagne. Rhys inhaled sharply against her mouth, unprepared as her other hand threaded into his hair. She kissed him like she owned the moment—like she owned him.
The mauve lipstick smeared across his lower lip, across the corner of his cheek, branding him with her color.
When she finally pulled back, their foreheads almost touched. Her eyes glimmered with something he couldn't read, something she wasn't ready to speak.
A slow smile curled on her lips.
He stood there, breath uneven, lips tingling—
But he forced himself to step back.
No words.
No reaction.
Just a quiet, controlled turn as he walked away, leaving her under the moonlight with his coat slipping from her shoulders… and her kiss still burning on his mouth.