The mirror was no help. It stared back with brutal honesty, watching Loretta Lang fumble with her lipstick for the third time.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, throwing the golden tube onto the vanity. It clattered, rolled, and finally stilled beside a glittering row of half-used perfumes—none of which, apparently, could mask the scent of panic.

Her hair was perfect. The dress, a sleek black number that wrapped like moonlight and smoke around her frame, was custom-cut to ruin men. And yet, her hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting.

Because this wasn’t just a lunch.

This was lunch on a moon.

A moon that didn’t even have a name—just coordinates, and a reputation so exclusive that most people weren’t sure if it was a restaurant or a rumor. You didn’t call to make a reservation there. You were summoned. Like a monarch in waiting. Or a sacrifice.

When Orias’ secretary had sent over the details—via encrypted courier, no less—Loretta had stared at the itinerary like it might bite her. A private shuttle. A coded entry pass. A note written in immaculate hand: “For Miss Lang. 1PM. He’s looking forward to it.”

She could still hear her manager’s voice, echoing in her head from the morning call.

“A moon, Loretta? A restaurant on a private moon? Who is this man, and why are you willingly stepping into the pages of a gothic romance novel?!”

To which she had replied, perhaps too quickly: “Because he asked nicely.”

Now she wasn’t so sure.

She stood, adjusting her dress again, brushing nonexistent lint off the neckline. She didn’t want to be overdressed. Or underdressed. Or seem like she was trying too hard.

Even though she was trying so hard she might pass out.

Loretta grabbed her perfume, sprayed the air, and walked through it like a martyr headed to the altar. Then, before she could change her mind, she pressed the intercom button.

“Marie?” she called out to her housekeeper. “Let the car know I’m ready.”

There was a pause, then Marie’s cheerful voice responded, “Already waiting, Miss Lang. Shuttle’s on the rooftop.”

Of course it was. Nothing less than seamless when it came to Orias Katko.

As she turned to leave, she caught herself in the mirror once more.

“You’re Loretta Lang,” she told her reflection firmly. “You’ve made emperors stammer and critics weep. This is just… lunch. Just a devilishly handsome, unnervingly unreadable man who rents moons like other men rent limousines.”

Her heart fluttered anyway.

She clicked her compact shut with a sigh. The face looking back at her was picture-perfect — the curls pinned just so, the lashes fluttery and full, lips a sultry cherry-red that could convince a priest to reconsider his vows. And yet…

She didn’t feel ready. Not really.

Loretta took a slow breath and ran her hands down her sides, smoothing invisible wrinkles in the dress for the tenth time. “He’s not even going to care what I’m wearing,” she muttered. “He probably eats with senators. Or demigods. Or sentient clouds that whisper philosophy.”

Her laugh came out too brittle to be real. She turned away from the mirror and paced toward her bedroom window, watching the city hover in its glassy sprawl, the sky slowly warming to midday lavender. Somewhere out there, a private shuttle was waiting. And at the end of that flight?

Orias.

She bit the inside of her cheek. “What am I doing?”

He was… well, him. A sextillionaire. A recluse. He had horns, for stars’ sake — and not the cute kind. The tall, spiraling kind that looked sculpted by divine geometry. Everything about him was intense, polished, unreadable. That crooked smile. That molten gold gaze. The way he had looked at her last night — really looked — like she was a puzzle worth solving, and not just a painting to hang on a gallery wall.

But that couldn’t mean anything. Could it?

She had thrown herself at him in a silk dress and he hadn’t even blinked. Wasn’t that answer enough?

Loretta dropped onto the edge of her chaise lounge, one perfectly manicured hand splayed over her stomach. She suddenly felt foolish. A little girl playing pretend with men who built empires. “This is stupid,” she whispered. “He probably agreed to the lunch out of pity. Or some twisted curiosity. Or maybe to keep the peace — can’t have a famous actress sulking over a party snub.”

The longer she sat, the heavier her limbs felt.

Maybe she should call it off. Maybe she should text and say she wasn’t feeling well. Blame it on nerves, or work, or a migraine. Something elegant and vague.

He’s too important for you.

The thought came uninvited, cold and sharp.

And yet… she'd already said yes.

She stood again, heart thudding. “Get it together, Lang.”

No backing out now.

After all, if she couldn’t charm her way through lunch, what business did she have pretending to be a star?

She grabbed her gloves and stepped out the door.

The shuttle glided with a hum as smooth as satin, its interior wrapped in buttery leather and soft golden light. Loretta sat alone, legs crossed tightly, her hands in her lap — not fidgeting, not smoothing her skirt, not nervously chewing her lower lip. Absolutely not.

It was a private transport. The kind reserved for diplomats, legacy billionaires, and those people who owned whole moons just to vacation on them once. The moment she’d stepped aboard, she felt like she’d walked into someone else’s life.

The pilot hadn’t said a word beyond “Ms. Lang, we’ll be arriving shortly,” and she appreciated the silence — even if her thoughts were loud.

She told herself again — for maybe the sixth time — that it was just lunch. It wasn’t a proposal. It wasn’t an interview for a lifelong partnership with a corporate demigod. Just… lunch. At a restaurant so exclusive it required not only wealth, but legacy. A place you couldn’t even google without a stock portfolio.

The shuttle dipped low through a velvet-blue atmosphere, and her breath caught.

The moon was nothing like the glitzed-out resort colonies she’d worked on before. It wasn’t all artificial palm trees and gaudy neon sprawled across silver sand. This place… it was quiet. Expensive in that old money way — where the marble was real, the trees were curated centuries ago, and the wealth didn’t need to prove itself. It simply was.

Rolling green hills cradled minimalist architecture in bone-white stone and dark, lacquered wood. There was a golf course, of course — one that looked like it hadn’t seen a guest since the last intergalactic banking summit. A sprawling clubhouse sat at the center like a temple. Elegant. Intimidating.

The shuttle docked with a soft hiss.

Loretta stared through the window, unable to stop the nervous knot in her stomach from pulling tighter. She was used to luxury — she had her name on gowns, damn it — but this was something different. This was generational. Ancient. She suddenly felt like a very glamorous impostor.

The door slid open.

She adjusted her gloves, exhaled, and stepped out into the cool, pine-scented air. Her heels clicked on the stone walkway with practiced grace, but her insides were jellied.

A staff member in pristine livery approached her with a respectful nod. “Ms. Lang. Mr. Katko is waiting for you on the terrace.”

Of course he was.

She smiled politely and followed, her nerves buzzing beneath her skin like static.

The resort loomed behind her like a palace.

And every step forward felt like stepping into another universe.

The shuttle hadn’t even fully docked before she saw them—three staffers in matching tailored uniforms, standing in perfect symmetry just beyond the landing pad. As the doors sighed open, they stepped forward in unison, each movement smooth, practiced, and eerily polite. It felt less like arriving at a restaurant and more like docking at an embassy.

“Ms. Lang,” the woman at the center said, bowing slightly. “Welcome to Celestine Grounds. Mr. Katko is expecting you.”

Expecting me.

The words made her spine tingle, but not in a bad way—in that way a girl tingles when she realizes she’s walked into a game she doesn’t know the rules to.

They escorted her across pale, seamless flagstones that gave no sound underfoot. Everything gleamed with a sort of restraint—like it had never known clutter or wear, like time itself had agreed to stay outside. There were no cameras. No gawkers. No velvet ropes to hold back paparazzi. This wasn’t the kind of place that needed protection from the outside world—the outside world simply didn’t exist here.

The silence was almost reverent.

A silent attendant peeled off to take her coat without ever touching her skin. Another opened a towering glass door, letting in a crisp breeze scented with cypress and mineral-rich soil. Every step deeper into the grounds felt like sinking into the soft center of a planet made entirely of taste and money.

They were waiting for me. Like I’m… someone.

Loretta tried not to visibly gape, but the precision of it all unnerved her more than any screaming fan ever had. She’d always been treated well—adored, even—but this wasn’t adoration. This was… logistics. Efficiency. High-performance hospitality. She wasn’t being fawned over. She was being handled.

A glass of water appeared in her hand without her noticing who placed it there. A subtle gesture led her to a private elevator that opened like the petals of a midnight flower.

“Mr. Katko is on the north terrace,” one of the staff said gently. “He asked that you take your time.”

Her heart fluttered.

It wasn’t just that Orias had arranged this. It was the fact that this whole place bent around him. Like gravity, but with better tailoring.

She smiled nervously and stepped into the lift.

Whatever lunch was about to be… it would be a far cry from room service and studio brunches.

The elevator moved like a whisper, not a sound or a lurch. Just a gentle shift in pressure as the world rose to meet her. Loretta caught her reflection in the brushed metal walls—soft curls coiled just so, lashes lifted high, lips a glossy wine-stain of courage. She looked the part. She always did. But her stomach did a slow, unpleasant somersault anyway.

What am I doing here?

Not on this moon. Not in this glass cathedral of exclusivity. But with him.

Orias Katko.

She pressed her hands against her waist, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her dress. It was vintage-cut silk in starlight blue, custom-fitted to move like water. It shimmered faintly when she shifted, catching light the way her skin sometimes did when her emotions threatened to rise. She prayed it wouldn’t happen now.

She was not going to glow in a goddamn elevator.

The soft chime of arrival broke her spiral.

The doors parted like theater curtains, revealing a single arched hallway that opened onto a sun-drenched terrace. Glass walls and manicured hedges framed a private world suspended above a sea of cloud. Marble tiles glowed beneath golden daylight. A waterfall of trailing ivy spilled from the ceiling in delicate arcs. And at the far end of a long table, seated with effortless ease, was Orias.

He stood as she entered, tall as she remembered—taller, somehow, framed by the sky itself. His red skin looked carved from cinnabar stone, set off by a dark, pressed suit with lapels so sharp they might slice air. His horns curved back elegantly, smoothed and polished, subtle but regal. A devil's silhouette in a gentleman's wardrobe.

His yellow eyes lit on her, and for a moment they didn’t move. Not a flicker of expression. And then—softly, wryly—his mouth quirked.

“You look far too composed,” he said. “Should I be worried?”

Loretta laughed despite herself, stepping forward on unsure heels. “Are you saying you expected me to be a mess?”

He motioned to the seat across from him with one graceful hand. “I’d be flattered if you were.”

She slid into the chair, pulse tapping at her throat like a finger on crystal.

“Well, I had a minor crisis in the elevator,” she confessed, “but I pulled myself together. It would’ve been terribly rude to cry in front of the universe’s most expensive appetizer menu.”

His chuckle was low and smooth, like aged bourbon. “You’ve no idea how often I consider crying at the prices here.”

She grinned, and for a moment it was just them—two people trying not to look as curious as they felt.

“Thank you,” she said suddenly. “For the invitation. And the moon. And not hanging up on me this morning.”

He studied her with that unreadable calm. “You were apologizing. I like people who can admit when they’re wrong.”

“I’m not usually wrong,” she said quickly, then added, “...but I am often boldly uninformed.”

He smiled—actually smiled—and it hit her like heat from a sudden sunbeam.

The waiter materialized with a chilled bottle, two glasses, and vanished again without a word. Loretta lifted hers with a practiced hand, letting the cool crystal calm her nerves.

Across the table, Orias took his glass, eyes never quite leaving her.

“To mistakes, then?” she offered.

He tipped his glass toward hers. “To the rare ones worth repeating.”

Their glasses kissed.

The sound echoed, small and perfect, into the quiet gold afternoon.

The meal arrived like a ceremony—each course unveiled by silent staff who moved like wind through linen. Loretta barely registered what was placed in front of her. Some gilded thing with a foam on top. Something candied underneath. Probably delicious. She couldn’t taste a damn thing over the thrum of her pulse.

Across the table, Orias had leaned in slightly, elbows on the table like a man comfortable in palaces, but still curious about the room.

“So,” he said, slicing into something suspiciously elegant, “should I assume you’ve looked me up by now?”

She blinked, caught mid-sip of her drink. “That obvious?”

He smiled into his wine. “Only because I would’ve done the same.”

“Well,” she said, setting down her glass and sitting up straighter, “I tried. But you’re incredibly difficult to dig into.”

“Good,” he replied, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “I spend a fortune making that true.”

Loretta laughed. “I figured as much. Most of what I got was speculation and hushed rumors. People can’t tell if you’re a genius or a villain. Or both.”

“That’s fair,” Orias said calmly. “What did you decide?”

She tilted her head, feigning deep thought. “Well… your company’s record is spotless. Not even a whisper of scandal. And your investments are weirdly generous in the arts. Quietly funding restoration projects, obscure indie films, a space-ballet—who even funds a space-ballet?”

He shrugged. “It had good choreography.”

“And,” she continued, leaning forward conspiratorially, “you’ve apparently never been photographed with a date. Ever.”

He raised a brow, amused. “That’s what tipped the scale toward ‘villain,’ wasn’t it?”

“No, that’s what made you irresistible.”

Orias laughed—a real laugh this time, smooth and warm and utterly unbothered.

Loretta smiled, setting down her fork. “Okay, your turn. Ask me something.”

“Alright,” he said without hesitation. “Why did you come out here?”

She blinked. “You mean today?”

“No. I mean… out here. This life. This planet. This galaxy. Why leave where you came from?”

For a moment, she faltered.

She wasn’t used to real questions. Especially not on dates.

“I…” she began, then steadied herself. “I wanted more than just being pretty. I was born pretty. People fell over themselves before I could walk. But I wanted to earn something. Do something that wasn’t handed to me by a look.”

He watched her, eyes flickering with something unreadable. “And have you?”

She nodded. “Some days, yes. Other days… I think the universe is still trying to undress me instead of hear me.”

“That’s because the universe is full of idiots,” he said simply.

She blinked. “Well. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”

Their eyes met again, and this time the weight of it settled between them like shared gravity. Not crushing. Not uncomfortable. Just undeniable.

Loretta cleared her throat, her voice a touch softer. “Alright. Your turn again. And no vague answers.”

Orias tilted his head, one dark brow arching. “Ask away.”

“What’s something you want that you don’t already have?”

His answer didn’t come quickly. He looked down, swirling the wine in his glass like it held stars instead of fermented fruit. When he finally looked up, there was a quiet in him she hadn’t seen before.

“Someone who looks past all this,” he said, gesturing lightly. “Someone who doesn’t care what I own. Or who I might become.”

Loretta felt it in her ribs. That ache. That mirror.

She lifted her glass again, voice just above a whisper. “Then maybe we’re not that different.”

Loretta didn’t touch her glass again after that. The moment had shifted. Less playful now. Not tense—but intimate in a quiet, complicated way. Like two secrets sharing a meal.

She glanced at Orias, the soft light of the restaurant turning the crimson of his skin almost bronze. His horns caught the glow like carved obsidian, casting twin shadows against the wall behind him. His yellow eyes didn’t gleam—they glowed. But not in a frightening way. They were too watchful for that. Too patient.

“Can I ask you something?” she said, more cautious this time.

He nodded. “You’re already doing better than most.”

She fiddled with her napkin, unsure why her pulse had suddenly decided to reside in her ears. “What’s it like—being you?”

He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at her. Not in that hollow, scanning way most men did when they were trying to categorize her. No. He watched her. Like her question mattered.

“I wake up every day wondering if I’m creating something that will matter,” he said slowly. “Or if I’m just building another thing the rich will turn into a toy.”

Loretta tilted her head. “Is that why you hide?”

He gave a soft huff. “You say it like I live in a cave.”

“Well you do appear out of nowhere and fund entire movies without meeting anyone involved. That’s a little Batman.”

A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Alright, fine. Maybe I hide. But I find that the more people know about you, the less they understand.”

Loretta leaned back in her chair, chin propped on one hand. “That’s funny.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I do the opposite. I let people think they know everything. The glamour, the gossip, the alien accent and cheekbones. I let them swim in it. Because the truth of me?” Her smile faltered just slightly. “It never lands.”

For the first time, Orias didn’t respond with charm or calm. He just looked… sad. Not pitying. Not dramatic. Just like someone who knew exactly what she meant.

“You ever get tired of pretending you’re fine?” she asked, quieter now.

“All the time,” he admitted.

Loretta tapped her nails against her wine glass. “So now what?”

He smiled, slow and warm. “We keep talking. Until one of us says something we regret.”

She laughed—too loud, too real. “Oh good. Emotional chicken. My favorite dinner game.”

But something in her chest had softened. Maybe cracked.

Maybe, for the first time in years, she wasn’t performing.

They lingered in the candlelight, half-finished glasses of wine forgotten between them.

Loretta sat straighter, fingers idly brushing the stem of her glass. “Alright, your turn to be interesting. Tell me something real.”

Orias tilted his head, that amused glint flashing in his golden eyes. “Define ‘real.’”

She smirked. “Something that would never make it into a press release.”

He considered her for a beat. “Alright. I don’t believe in luck.”

“Really?”

“I think most people who talk about luck just don’t want to admit how much work it took to get what they wanted—or how much they lost to keep it.”

Loretta laughed under her breath. “That’s bleak.”

“It’s honest.”

She watched him a moment, catching the way he didn’t flinch under her gaze. Most men would have tried to impress her by now. Flexed their importance. Dropped names like crumbs.

But Orias just… existed. Powerful. Unbothered. And infuriatingly opaque.

“I used to believe in luck,” she said softly. “Then I landed a role because the producer liked the way I looked when I was crying.”

Orias raised an eyebrow. “That’s dark.”

“It was a good cry,” she countered, then shook her head. “No, it was stupid. But that was the beginning. I thought I’d do one movie, go back home with a stack of credits and some stories. Instead…”

“Instead the galaxy wanted more.”

Loretta gave him a sidelong look. “Do you always finish people’s sentences?”

“Only when I know how they end.”

She rolled her eyes, biting back a smile. “You are so annoyingly composed.”

“I’ve been told.”

They sat in that easy quiet for a moment. Then she leaned in, elbow on the table, eyes playful. “Fine. Since you don’t believe in luck—what do you believe in?”

Orias leaned back, stretching slightly as if considering the ceiling before answering. “Timing. And leverage.”

“Leverage?”

He smiled again, subtle but sharp. “When you’ve got the right idea at the wrong time, it fails. When you’ve got the right time with nothing to offer, you’re just another hopeful. But if you have both… then you don’t have to beg anyone for a seat at the table.”

She blinked, surprised by how plainly he said it. How it wasn’t showy, but grounded. Practiced.

“That’s how you got rich, then?” she asked.

“Partly.” He sipped his wine. “Mostly I listened. People love to talk about what they need. I built things that solved problems they didn’t realize they had.”

“And now you fund movies.”

He shrugged. “Some people collect ships. I collect stories.”

Loretta tilted her head, considering him like a puzzle. “What kind of story is this, then?”

Orias looked at her for a long moment. His expression didn’t change, but something in the air shifted. Softer. Intentional.

“That depends,” he said, voice lower now. “On whether it ends tonight.”

Loretta’s pulse jumped in her throat, but she kept her cool—barely. “Well. I suppose we’ll see.”

She reached for her wine again, hand only slightly trembling.

Something real.

And for the first time in a very long time, she wasn’t sure who was getting the better deal—her, or him.

They left the dining room slowly, side by side, Loretta’s heels clicking against polished marble that shimmered like glass. The maître d’ offered a respectful nod as they passed, and Orias murmured something quietly to him—too quiet for her to hear.

The man nodded and disappeared. No check. No signature. No goodbyes.

Orias led her through a wide corridor flanked with enormous windows that framed the moon’s cratered edge like artwork. Beyond the glass, a silver garden bloomed—twisting foliage made of glimmering stone and alien vines that pulsed with bioluminescence.

It felt like stepping into a dream designed by someone who never had to ask permission.

Loretta folded her arms against the chill. “So… what exactly is this place? I tried looking it up and got three different names, none of them on the public star maps.”

He gave her a half-smile. “That’s because it’s private. This moon isn’t listed. Neither is the cluster.”

She blinked. “You mean—?”

“I own it,” he said simply. “The moon. The resort. The stars surrounding us. It’s easier than sharing.”

Loretta stopped walking. “You own a galaxy cluster?”

Orias turned back, watching her reaction with quiet amusement. “About eighty-two systems. Nothing too dramatic. Most of them are uninhabited or leased out for science colonies.”

She stared at him, stunned. “I thought you were just rich.”

He shrugged. “I am. Just not in a very casual way.”

She let out a laugh that felt like it didn’t belong to her. “And here I was thinking this dress made me overdressed.”

He stepped closer, not too close, but close enough that she could feel his warmth again. “You aren’t.”

They walked again, but slower now. Her heels clicked louder, like punctuation to her thoughts.

“So what does a galactic landlord do for fun?” she teased.

Orias’s smile was all teeth. “I take out bold women who pretend they’re not impressed.”

“I’m not,” she said—too quickly.

“Of course not,” he said, just as fast.

They stopped near a secluded balcony surrounded by spiraling crystal vines. The air smelled like rain and ozone. Somewhere nearby, artificial birds chirped in soft, hollow tones.

He gestured to the bench. “Sit?”

She did, smoothing her dress beneath her. He sat beside her, not too close, but close enough to feel like gravity.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Loretta asked, softer now, “Why me?”

Orias didn’t answer immediately. He glanced out over the garden like he might find the words tucked behind the vines.

“You didn’t want anything from me,” he said finally. “You didn’t know who I was. And you weren’t afraid to be honest.”

She tilted her head. “And now that I do know?”

“That’s what I’m wondering.”

She smiled faintly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Let me guess—you don’t trust people who smile too fast.”

“I don’t trust people who smile only when I say I’m rich.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What if I smile because you’re charming and a little too tall for your own good?”

“I’d consider that evidence,” he said dryly.

They fell quiet again.

Loretta leaned back, arms behind her. “Everyone thinks I’m just a body,” she said softly. “That if they just get close enough, they'll get a piece of it. Nobody asks what I actually want.”

Orias looked over at her, his expression unreadable. “So tell me.”

“I want…” She hesitated. “To stop pretending. I want to be seen like I’m more than whatever magazine cover I accidentally land on.”

He nodded slowly. “I know that feeling.”

Her brows lifted. “Really? A man who owns a solar system knows what it’s like to not be seen?”

“You’d be surprised,” he said. “Most people only see the number. The myth. They don’t see me.”

Loretta shifted, her tone teasing again. “So are we both gorgeous, powerful enigmas in disguise?”

Orias smirked. “One of us certainly is.”

“Oh, stop.” She swatted his arm. “You’re impossible.”

He leaned closer, his voice lower now. “And you’re trying very hard not to admit you like it.”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were warm. “I liked the part where you didn’t know who I was.”

“And I liked the part where you tried to seduce me without knowing who I was.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“I’m complimenting you,” he said. “You’re bold.”

Loretta stared at him for a beat, then looked away, a slow smile creeping across her lips.

She didn’t trust him yet—not really.

But she liked him.

And maybe that was the first real thing she’d felt in a while.

They wandered from the dining suite into the sprawling gardens behind the restaurant, a velvet sprawl of manicured wilderness tucked between alien trees that glowed faintly with bioluminescence. The garden was empty, save for the two of them. Privacy like this wasn’t reserved—it was owned.

They found a patch of soft moss beneath a low-blooming tree and laid down among it, the sky above pricked with unfamiliar stars. Loretta rested against Orias’s chest, one leg lazily draped over his. His arm was slung around her waist, fingers tracing idle, thoughtless patterns against the back of her dress. It was the kind of position that would usually come after something—but this wasn’t that.

“Tell me something real,” she murmured, eyes half-closed.

Loretta leaned her cheek against her knuckles, studying him. “You know, I’ve never seen you with anyone.”

Orias tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she said, eyes narrowing slightly, “you’re always alone. No entourage, no dates. You show up like a ghost with an expense account.”

He chuckled low in his throat. “I take it you’ve been researching.”

“I skim,” she said, coyly. “It’s part of the job.”

He looked out over the glasslike pond below, his reflection distorted in ripples. “There have been people. I’ve slept around, sure. But never anything with weight.”

Loretta blinked, surprised by the honesty.

Orias shrugged. “Affection’s easy to buy. Desire even easier. But something real? You can’t write a check for that. It’s… rare to just sit with someone and feel like you’re not being measured.”

She smiled, a little sad. “So this—?”

He met her gaze. “Feels nice.”

The silence settled again, deeper this time. Comfortable.

Loretta hesitated before she spoke. “You asked me earlier what I want. I didn’t tell the whole truth.”

He looked back at her, interested.

“I used to think I wanted love. Then I thought I just wanted fun. But after what I’ve been through… I think I just want someone who sees me coming and still stays.”

He didn’t press. Just waited.

“My first real relationship was with my manager,” she said quietly. “I was young, new to all of it. He knew that. Knew exactly how green I was. Told me he loved me, and I believed him.”

Orias’s expression sharpened, but he said nothing.

“I thought he was protecting me, helping me understand this world. But it was all control. I finally got out when my contract expired. Thought I was free.”

She let out a breath. “Dated someone new—an actor. Sweet, charming, stupid handsome. Said all the right things. Then I found out he was just using me to polish his image. More red carpets. Better headlines.”

Orias’s voice was low. “How did it end?”

“He dumped me over a text. Right after he booked a franchise gig.”

She laughed bitterly, then shook her head. “So, yeah. I’m great at picking men.”

He leaned in, one arm along the back of the bench, voice gentle. “You’re not the problem.”

She looked up at him.

He met her gaze evenly, no pity—just clarity. “They saw what they could take, not who you were.”

Something cracked open behind her eyes. Not pain—just release. Like someone had finally said the thing she’d tried to bury with every photo shoot and forced smile.

And then—

He leaned in.

So did she.

Their lips met in a kiss that was neither explosive nor timid—it was quiet, mutual, and whole. A kind of test and answer rolled into one. The kind of kiss that says: I see you. I’m here.

When they pulled apart, the air shimmered between them.

“Still sure this isn’t something with weight?” she asked softly.

He smiled—small, warm, and just a little dazzled.

“I’m starting to wonder.”

Loretta shifted beside him, the moss soft and cool beneath them. Without breaking eye contact, she moved deliberately, sliding up until she was straddling his hips. The sudden closeness sent a thrill rushing through her—bold, undeniable.

Orias’s eyes darkened with surprise, then flickered with a slow, appreciative smile. “That’s a bold move,” he said, his voice a low rumble, almost amused, almost challenging.

Her lips curved upward, fierce and confident. “I’m not one for waiting around.”

His fingers found the small of her back, tracing slow circles that pulled her closer, erasing the last of the distance between them. The air between them thickened—electric, heavy with expectation. She could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her, matching her own quickening rhythm.

Their faces hovered inches apart, breath mingling, eyes locked in a silent conversation that was older than words. The garden around them faded into shadow and light, the night holding its breath with them.

Then, slowly, deliberately, they leaned in—two magnets drawn irreversibly together.

And as their lips met, soft at first, a spark ignited, burning away hesitation. The world fell away, leaving only the heat of skin, the promise in their touch, and the sweet danger of what was to come.

Their lips lingered, the kiss slow and deliberate—an unspoken promise hanging between them. When they finally parted, breathless, Loretta’s fingers tangled in his dark hair, her eyes sparkling with daring and something softer beneath it.

Orias’s yellow gaze held hers, steady and unreadable, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. “You’re full of surprises, Loretta.”

She chuckled, the sound warm and light, the boldness settling into something comfortable. “Maybe I’m just getting started.”

They stayed like that for a long moment—close, connected, the night wrapping around them like a secret.

And somewhere deep inside, both knew this was just the beginning.