The crowd shimmered around Loretta like a swarm of stars orbiting a sun she barely wanted to burn for. She stood at the center of the room, a living jewel perched on a pedestal built from adoration and expectation. The warmth of a hundred eyes pressed against her skin, but it wasn’t comfort — it was a silent demand, a hunger that gnawed beneath every smile.
Men leaned in, voices low and urgent, as if simply being near her could feed some desperate void. “You’re breathtaking.” “How do you do it?” “I need to know your secret.” Their words spilled over her like a river threatening to flood, but inside, Loretta felt like a quiet island, isolated and unmoving. She was surrounded yet unseen, admired but never truly known.
She smiled with the ease of a practiced actress, lips curved but eyes distant, flickering toward the sparkling chandeliers overhead as if searching for an exit. This was her world — the endless parade of compliments, the dizzying whirl of flashing cameras, the intoxicating yet suffocating dance of being desired without being understood. A world where her beauty was currency, her glow a spectacle, and her mind a well-guarded secret.
Boredom curled in her chest like smoke, a silent rebellion beneath the polished surface. She was the star, the glowing mystery everyone gawked at — but what they really wanted was just the light she cast, not the woman behind it.
So she stayed close to her co-star and closest friend, Maris. Maris, with her quick laugh and effortless grace, was a tether in the madness of the night. When a particularly persistent admirer leaned too close, Maris was there — a gentle nudge, a subtle smile, a shield without a word. Between them, Loretta found brief solace from the relentless spotlight.
As Loretta chatted softly with Maris, her gaze drifted beyond the sea of faces. There, standing apart, was a figure who did not crave attention—who did not chase the gleam of the spotlight or the fevered whispers. Orias Katko.
He was unmistakable — tall and lean, his presence like a shadow in a room full of light. His eyes were sharp, observing yet unreadable, cutting through the glitter and noise with a quiet, unsettling calm. No one surrounded him; no one leaned in to catch his smile or bask in his power. Instead, he seemed almost disinterested in the world swirling around him.
Loretta’s curiosity sparked, a rare, sharp thrill piercing through her haze of boredom and pretense. Here was a man who didn’t want to consume her glow, but perhaps saw something else entirely.
Loretta swirled her champagne glass, watching the bubbles rise like tiny secrets trying to escape. Her eyes drifted back to Orias again. Still alone. Still unreadable.
“He hasn’t said a word to me,” she murmured, almost to herself.
Maris leaned in, the corners of her mouth quirking upward. “Maybe he doesn’t know who you are.”
Loretta scoffed, but the sound lacked real indignation. “Everyone here’s told me I was divine. One man cried, Maris. Cried.”
“I saw that,” Maris said, grinning. “He asked you to sign his prosthetic leg.”
“I did it. With a heart.”
“Of course you did.”
Loretta set the glass down, her fingers restless against the stem. “But that one—Orias—he’s just been standing there all night like none of this matters. Like I don’t matter.”
Maris tilted her head. “Isn’t that what you usually want? You’re always complaining men only see your glow, not the girl underneath.”
Loretta rolled her eyes, smiling in spite of herself. “Well, yes, but not like... this. He didn’t even glance at me.”
“So now you want him to?” Maris grinned wide, delighting in the rare vulnerability.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t not say that.”
Loretta huffed, crossing one elegant leg over the other, her expression composed but her ears just slightly glowing.
Maris leaned closer, stage-whispering, “You like him. The great Loretta Lang is interested.”
“I don’t like him,” Loretta insisted, too quickly. “I’m... curious. There’s a difference.”
Maris laughed, full and musical. “Well, maybe he’s the first man in the room who doesn’t want something from you.”
Loretta went quiet for a beat, staring across the sea of silk and champagne flutes to that distant silhouette. “Exactly.”
Maris was still smiling, eyes glinting with mischief. “You know who he reminds me of a little?”
Loretta narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “Don’t.”
“Rafael.”
Loretta’s face twisted like she’d bitten into a lemon. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh come on!” Maris laughed, covering her mouth with a silk-gloved hand. “You have a type: tall, broody, emotionally distant—”
“Rafael was not emotionally distant, he was emotionally constipated.”
“And he had that same ‘I only read philosophy and drink imported coffee’ thing going on. Honestly, this one looks like he’s written three sad books about a woman who wronged him in a past life.”
“I’m going to hit you with this shoe.”
Loretta kicked a heel half-heartedly toward her under the table. Maris just laughed harder.
“Fine,” Loretta huffed, reaching for her champagne again. “Let’s pretend for a second he’s not a walking red flag factory. He hasn’t even looked at me, Maris. Not once. Isn’t that... weird?”
Maris sipped her drink, giving her a once-over. “You’re glowing, you’re the star of the night, and the only man who hasn’t worshipped at your feet is Mister Shadow-in-the-Corner over there. Honestly, it’s got to be some kind of psychological kink.”
Loretta chuckled, but there was a tension behind it—something simmering in her pride. “Maybe he’s just immune.”
“Or maybe he doesn’t like women.”
“Oh, now that’s just offensive,” Loretta said, mock-gasping. “I mean, look at me. I’m a delicacy.”
“Well,” Maris said slyly, twirling her glass. “If he isn’t interested, there’s one way to find out.”
Loretta arched a brow.
Maris leaned in with a grin. “Go talk to him. Prove me wrong. Better yet—take him home tonight. Make the man who doesn’t bend finally break.”
Loretta tilted her head, eyes sharpening like polished crystal. “So it’s a competition now?”
Maris raised her glass. “To impossible men and foolish bets.”
Loretta’s smile returned, wide and glittering. “Alright. Watch closely, darling. The hunt begins.”
She stood, smoothed the folds of her satin dress, and crossed the floor like she owned the air itself.
Loretta glided across the room like a slow-burning comet—dressed in silver, haloed in perfume and envy. Conversations dipped as she passed. Glasses froze halfway to lips. She was used to being adored, hunted, clung to like a lucky coin.
But he hadn’t looked at her once.
He stood alone by a tall window framed in velvet, a silhouette carved in infernal grace. Red skin catching the candlelight. Horns like obsidian crescents curling high from his crown. His dark hair was slicked back with effortless precision, his yellow eyes calm and half-lidded like a cat waiting for the room to catch up with him. A tail flicked lazily behind one boot, tapping the floor in time with the music.
She approached, heart already rehearsing lines. When he finally looked at her, it was neither in awe nor surprise—but like he was flipping a page in a book he wasn’t finished with yet.
“Hi,” she said, voice low and lilting.
“Good evening,” he replied smoothly, his voice like warm metal—soft but shaped.
She smiled. “You’re the only person in this room who hasn’t complimented me. I think that makes you either brave or criminally unaware.”
One dark brow arched, slow and elegant. “Should I offer an apology or a critique?”
Loretta blinked, then laughed—genuinely. “Neither. Just an explanation.”
He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “You carry attention like a torch. I didn’t think you needed more.”
She tilted her chin, intrigued. “Oh, but I like more. I collect compliments like postcards.”
“Then let me not be redundant,” he said, with a small smile that did dangerous things to her heart.
She took a half-step closer, eyes narrowing playfully. “You’re not like the rest of them.”
“I try not to be.”
“You don’t know who I am, do you?”
His gaze lingered, calm and focused. “Should I?”
“I was the star of the film.” She gestured vaguely toward the marquee lighting up the glass. “The star.”
“I haven’t seen it yet,” he said. “I’m told it’s very good.”
“You’re not here for the film?”
“I’m here for the party,” he said simply.
“Ah,” she said, half-deflated, half-challenged. “You’re one of those guests.”
He smiled faintly. “Is that a bad thing?”
“I’ll let you know.”
She offered her hand, suddenly charmed by her own annoyance. “Loretta Lang.”
He took it, polite but brief. His black-tipped fingers were cool, his grip exact. “Orias.”
She waited for more. None came.
“And what do you do, Orias?”
“I run an innovations company. Katko Home Innovations.”
She nodded slowly, eyebrows rising. “So you make homes smarter than their owners.”
“I make homes that understand people better than most people do.”
She laughed, startled. “Oh, so you’re not just handsome—you’re clever.”
“I’m selectively clever,” he said. “And very particular.”
“I bet,” she said, tilting her head. “Are you always this composed, or is that tailored just for me?”
He met her gaze without blinking. “Would you prefer I fainted?”
Loretta smirked, tongue against her teeth. “Not fainted. Just a little dazzled.”
“I find myself... intrigued,” he said. “Is that close enough?”
She blinked, caught off guard by the subtle heat beneath his cool tone. And that smile—that impossible, unreadable half-smile—it left her thinking about it long after their hands parted.
Loretta didn’t let go of his hand immediately. It was the kind of hesitation no one would dare call needy—it wore diamonds and knew her angles. But to Orias, it earned only a polite release and a retreat of exactly one step.
“So you invent things,” she said, sipping her champagne without looking at it. “That must be so thrilling. Wires, and tools, and… screwdrivers.”
He gave the ghost of a laugh. “We’re more conceptual now. I spend most of my time reviewing neural-interface schematics and firing people who confuse ambition with competence.”
“Oh, be still my heart,” she drawled. “That’s even sexier than the screwdrivers.”
He smiled again—still too controlled, but this time with a trace of actual amusement. “You don’t strike me as someone who gets bored easily.”
“I don’t,” she said quickly, eyes locking on him like a ship bracing for impact. “But I also don’t waste time on dull company. You’re not dull.”
“Thank you,” he said evenly, “I try.”
She stepped closer. They were toe to toe now—her in her glimmering heels and he in those midnight-polished boots that probably cost more than her first contract. His tail curled idly near her calf. She didn’t know whether it was intentional, but it made her breath hitch.
“You always come to these things?” she asked, softer now. “Premieres. Social whirls. Adoring fans?”
He shook his head. “Rarely. I owed a favor.”
“To someone here?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just sipped his drink and said, “Let’s say I had time to burn.”
She bit her lip—deliberately. “If you’re still burning time later, maybe I could help with that.”
Another pause. A flicker of something in his eyes, gone as quick as it came.
“I appreciate the offer,” he said, and there was warmth in it—yes—but not the kind she was aiming for. It was the kind of polite deflection rich men gave when they were too smooth to be rude and too dangerous to be led.
Loretta blinked, stunned by her own confusion. She was trying—not acting, trying—and he still wasn’t melting.
She glanced to the side. “You're not married, are you?”
“No.”
“Engaged?”
“No.”
“Secretly pining for a childhood sweetheart you left on a forgotten moon?”
He chuckled—actually chuckled—and her knees nearly betrayed her.
“No,” he said again.
“Then what is it?” she asked, crossing her arms like she might squeeze the answer out of herself. “Don’t like actors?”
“I don’t know any,” he said. “Until now.”
Her breath caught. She should’ve been flattered. She was—but the burn of not being wanted underneath it was already crackling through her.
Everything about him was designed to be unreadable. The tailored suit that didn’t wrinkle. The way he never once looked at her body, just her face. The way he spoke like someone used to not needing to impress.
It wasn’t indifference. It was power.
And now—now she had to have him.
She leaned in with a smile that could’ve boiled oceans. “Well, I’m a very fast study, Orias. And very persistent.”
“I believe it,” he said with a nod. “But I should warn you—”
She raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
He tilted his head. “You might not be the first persistent person I’ve met.”
Loretta exhaled a quiet laugh through her nose, shaking her head. She’d flirted with war heroes, run off with dukes, been serenaded on a volcano once—but this?
She was going to lose sleep over him.
And she hated that.
Loretta let the silence stretch between them. She was used to silence—it usually came right after a gasp or right before a confession. But this one held no promise, no tension. Just... composure.
She folded her arms, tilting her head like she was examining a piece of art that refused to flatter her.
“Well,” she said with exaggerated brightness, “I’m not used to being the one walking away.”
Orias offered a faint smile. “There’s a first time for everything.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You practice being this frustrating, or were you born that way?”
He met her gaze, unblinking. “I was engineered this way.”
She laughed again—caught off guard, breathless. And there it was: he’d let her in, just a sliver, just enough to keep the thread unbroken.
“You’re trouble,” she said, pointing at him like she was warning herself. “Red flags and red skin.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But I haven’t decided what kind of trouble you are yet either.”
That stopped her. Her breath hitched so subtly even she didn’t notice it at first. The crowd buzzed around them, but she felt like the entire ballroom had tilted on its axis.
“Well,” she murmured, voice lower now, not for seduction but something deeper—genuine intrigue, or maybe surrender. “If you ever decide… I do live in town.”
“I’ll remember that,” he said, raising his glass.
And just like that, she was dismissed. Not cruelly, not coldly—but the way royalty ends a conversation: polite, firm, with just enough warmth to make it feel like a promise rather than a goodbye.
Loretta turned, slow and smooth, and walked back through the room like she was still the main event—even though her thoughts were halfway across the ballroom, curled up at the feet of a man who hadn’t even looked at her legs.
Behind her, Orias watched—only once she was no longer watching him.
His tail gave a slow flick, and his eyes followed her just a second too long.
Not admiration.
Curiosity.
Interest, hidden behind centuries of restraint.
But interest, nonetheless.
Loretta weaved her way back through the ballroom like a ship gliding through champagne foam. Every pair of eyes still followed her, every mouth still whispered her name like it tasted expensive. But her mind was already miles away—back by that tall, infernal devil in a suit who’d smiled like a riddle and talked like a locked door.
What was that?
She’d come in tonight expecting praise, attention, maybe a few indecent offers and at least one marriage proposal from a baron with too many vowels in his name. Instead, she’d been politely outmaneuvered by a man who didn’t even recognize her face—her face! The same face that was projected forty feet tall on half the moons in the quadrant last week.
It wasn’t the rejection that stung. It was the calmness. The neutrality of it. He hadn’t winced or squirmed or even stumbled. He’d just… been.
Untouched.
Unimpressed.
Unrushed.
“Oh, you’re in the movie,” she muttered under her breath, mimicking him in a lower register, brows knitting. “Yes, darling, I starred in it. But do go on about your screwdrivers and schematics, you tragic slab of mystery beef.”
She exhaled and pressed her fingers to her temples.
“He smiled, though,” she added quickly to herself. “That wasn’t just politeness. That last smile—that had a curve to it. A little curve. Like the beginning of something.”
Her heels clacked softly across the marble as she neared the balcony doors again, scanning for Maris. “I am trouble. He said it like he meant it.”
She spotted her co-star by the railing, sipping something pink and lethal-looking, already deep in conversation with a costume designer. Loretta slipped up beside her like a well-placed scandal and slid a manicured finger down Maris’s bare arm.
Maris turned, lit up. “There you are! I thought you’d been abducted by one of your fans.”
Loretta rolled her eyes and stole the rest of her drink.
Maris raised her brow. “So? You talk to him?”
“Oh, did I,” Loretta said, voice low and dramatic. “He’s charming in that maddening, slow-witted aristocrat way. You know—tall, elegant, rich, emotionally unavailable.”
Maris grinned. “So your type.”
Loretta ignored the jab. “He’s strange. Didn’t even know who I was. Like. Did not know. I had to tell him I was in the movie.”
Maris blinked. “Wait, seriously?”
Loretta nodded, relishing the drama of it. “Can you believe it? Me. Loretta Lang. The woman on the poster. The poster he was literally standing under.”
Maris nearly snorted champagne through her nose. “Well, you did say you liked a challenge.”
“He’s beyond a challenge. He’s practically a myth.”
“Well… he is.”
Loretta paused. “What do you mean?”
Maris glanced around, leaned in close. “I just found out who he is.”
Loretta tensed.
Maris grinned and swirled what was left of her drink. “You know what’s funny though?”
Loretta looked at her, wary. “Oh no.”
Leaning in close, Maris whispered like it was the last secret in the universe. “He’s not just some billionaire drifter. He’s the backer.”
Loretta blinked, the world tilting for a heartbeat. “Backer of what?”
Maris’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Of our movie, Loretta. He’s one of the major investors. The reason half this thing even exists.”
Heat surged up Loretta’s neck, flooding her cheeks and blinding her with embarrassment. She swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. “I talked to him like he was some random stranger at a party… I—”
Loretta groaned and covered her face. “Oh stars. I might actually implode.”
Maris giggled, delighting in the drama. “So what now?”
Loretta peered between her fingers, eyes blazing. “Now? Now I pretend I knew the whole time. And then I send a very tasteful, incredibly humble apology. With maybe just a dash of charm.”
“So you are into him.”Loretta pulled her fingers away from her face, heart thudding in her chest like a warning drum. “Maris, I’m… I don’t know. I’m really into him. Not in some fairy-tale way. More like… he feels like the kind of man who could be good company. A good husband someday.”
Her voice softened, hesitant. “But I’m not ready for all that. Not now. I’ve spent too long running, chasing everything but that. So I keep telling myself he’s just… interesting. Someone steady. Something solid I could lean on, maybe.”
Maris arched an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “Whoa, Loretta. I didn’t peg you as the ‘settling down’ type.”
Loretta laughed—shaky, but real. “Neither did I. But after how my last boyfriend turned out…” Her voice faltered, bitter at the edges. “Maybe I’m rushing into this just because he’s… different. Because he didn’t fawn over me like the others.”
Maris raised a brow, amused. “I thought you were just trying to hook up with him for the night. Just to see if he’d bite.”
Loretta blinked, her cheeks warming. “Well, it didn’t work. He kind of laughed at me—brushed me off. Not rudely. Just… like he didn’t care.”
Maris let out a sharp laugh, her eyes dancing. “What? Even if he didn’t recognize you, it’s another thing entirely to not fall at your feet. You’re gorgeous. And now that he didn’t melt like the rest, you’re spiraling?”
Loretta shook her head, a small, rueful smile tugging at her lips. “Sometimes the unexpected grabs you harder than you want.”
Their eyes drifted back across the crowded room. Orias stood tall, the room’s chaos folding around him like a shadow. When their gazes met, it was no casual glance—his yellow eyes held hers steady, a silent connection pulsing between them. It was brief but electric, and Loretta felt it deep in her chest, as if the world had narrowed to just that moment.
Her breath caught. The warmth flooding her cheeks turned hot, unbearable.
Maris nudged her gently, her voice dipping into something softer. “He is good-looking, I’ll give you that. But maybe you should take a break for a while. You don’t even know anything about him—aside from the fact that he’s rich and unbothered.”
Loretta swallowed hard, her gaze flickering back to where Orias still stood, aloof and magnetic. “Tomorrow,” she said, more to herself than to Maris. “I’ll call him. Apologize for being so… presumptuous. Maybe see if he’ll forgive me. Maybe we can grab lunch.”
Maris groaned, tugging her arm away from the sightline. “Oh, Loretta. Please.”
Loretta smirked, rolling her eyes as she gave her friend that familiar, daring glance. “You can’t blame a woman for trying, Maris.”
Maris threw her head back with a laugh. “No, but I can blame her for falling face-first into her own trap.”
Loretta shrugged, cheeks still pink, heart still stupidly loud. “Well then. I hope it’s a good story.”