“Hi, Uncle Bruno,” I say. His loud voice booms out of the receiver, “If it isn’t my favorite niece. Hello, Dee Dee. To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?” Uncle Bruno is one of the coolest people I know. He's a famous TV and event host who plans and leads big events all over the world. This year, he's the host of the Luminary Gala. Uncle Bruno is related to my dad's new wife (the super religious one). He's her brother, so that makes him my step-uncle. He's also one of the few friends I have. “I need to get an invitation to this year’s Luminary Gala. Can you get me on the guest list?” I say. There’s silence on the other end of the line. “Hello? Are you there?” I say. “Yeah, I’m here. That was... unexpected. It’s a very exclusive event, Dee.” “I can be your plus one,” I offer quickly. “I already have a plus one.” “Your plus two, then.” He pauses, and I can almost hear the gears turning in his head. “Hmmm.” “Is that a yes or a no?” I ask, anxiety creeping into m
It’s the day of the gala, and I’m panicking. “You look good, Dee,” Jessica says. “Are you sure? Does the color of the dress seem right? Am I wearing too much makeup or too little? Is the dress too tight? Am I doing the right thing?” Jessica sighs, placing her hands on my shoulders. “Remember, you don’t have to do any of this. Just say the word, and I’ll send Uncle Bruno’s limousine away.” I chuckle. “I can’t believe he sent a fucking limousine.” Yup, Uncle Bruno has never been discreet. True to his word, I got an email with all the details—event schedule, seating plan, and my spot in the hall. Seeing my name, Desiree Blackwood, on such a high-profile list nearly had me in tears. But the real jaw-dropper? I had a front-row table, right across from the keynote speaker’s. I mean, I’d be practically staring into Mr. Hart’s eyes. My fingers are trembling. Jessica steps back, giving me a once-over. “The dress is perfect, Dee. The emerald green really brings out your eyes, and
Oh. My. God. I'm face to face with Mr. Hart, and there's no doubt he's talking to me. His blue eyes stare right into mine, and I can't look away. This is the moment I've been waiting for, but now that it's here, I'm completely speechless. I just keep staring. And staring. “Cat got your tongue?” he says. I shake my head, trying to gather my thoughts. Maybe if I pretend this is a casual encounter with a cute barista, I’ll remember how to speak. “Why are you following me?” he asks. I’d pictured this moment so many times. What I’d say. How I’d say it. I practiced in front of my mirror, perfecting my body movements. Don’t smile too much—it makes you look cheap. Don’t slouch—it decreases your height. Don’t look away—hold his gaze. Don’t speak too fast—it makes you sound demented. Don’t flip your hair—everyone does that. But in none of those rehearsals did I say what I’m about to say now. “I was just looking for the restroom,” I blurt out. He looks me up and down, as though he's not
So far, Mr. Hart has led me through an endless series of corridors. Left, right, left, right. Door after door passes by, each one looking exactly the same. Just when I think we've reached the end, another hallway appears. It’s magical. It’s scary. I feel like we’re moving around in circles, or moving through a wonderfully constructed maze. “Where are we going?” I ask, finally breaking the silence. “You’ll see.” I’ll see? I don’t like that answer. What does it even mean? Am I getting kidnapped by a billionaire? Strangely, that doesn’t scare me as much as it should. Or is he a cannibal? Am I allowing myself to be easily escorted into a slaughterhouse? “Mr. Hart—” I call out, trying to sound more confident than I feel. Maybe if I keep talking to him, he’ll remember that I’m human. And as a fellow human, it would be inhumane to eat me. “Call me Caspian,” he says, leading me into another quiet corridor. Wonderful. We’re on a first-name basis. I guess that means I’m not getting
No way. That door wasn’t there before—I’m absolutely sure of it. It was a blank wall when I was standing right in front of it. Where did it come from? “Are we allowed in here?” I ask, trying to mask my astonishment. “Well, you’re not allowed. I have a key,” he replies with a grin. As I step into the newly revealed room, it becomes clear that it’s an office, but not like any I’ve ever seen. The walls are entirely made of reflective glass—just mirrors. “Do you, um, own this place?” I ask. “Do people really own places?” he muses with a thoughtful look. “I’m a major shareholder in this foundation.” Well, none of the articles I’ve read had mentioned that. It must be a top secret. Do I need to sign an NDA or something? If so, I’m probably getting sued, because there's no way I'm not spilling every detail to Jessica the moment I see her. I mean, look at this place! How long could I possibly keep it a secret before I explode? Despite the abundance of mirrors, the room doesn't fee
Caspian’s eyes lock onto mine. There’s a playful glint in those eyes, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. He leans back slightly in his chair, his posture relaxed but attentive. “And how, lovely lady, do you plan to seduce me?”I want the ground to open up and swallow me. I feel my face flush, and for a moment, my mind races, trying to come up with a clever response. But all I can think about is the way his eyes seem to see right through me.“I…,” I begin. “Well, I didn’t think that part through. That’s why I was observing you. To figure out what might work.”“So after two hours of staring, what did you discover?”“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. “Absolutely nothing. You’re hard to read.”Caspian reaches for the bottle of scotch. He pours the rich, amber liquid into his glass, filling it just enough to leave a small gap at the top. Then, with a casual glance, he picks up my glass. Despite the fact that there’s still some alcohol left in my glass, he tops it off with scot
Caspian's POVIt’s Sunday, eight days since I met the red-haired angel, and I think I’m slowly losing my mind. I see her in my dreams. I see her when I’m wide awake. Desiree Blackwood. Her name is stuck in my head. I remember everything about her—her sharp eyes, her fiery hair, and the way she smelled. I see her in the faces of people I pass, hear her voice in the quiet moments, and feel her touch when I’m alone.It’s not just a crush; it’s a need. Eight days have felt like forever, and I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t focus on my work. Every time I try to think about something else, her image pops up in my mind.Why do I feel this way about her? Is it because she’s a challenge, or because of the fire in her eyes? I don’t know. All I know is that I’m hooked, and there’s no way to stop it.Beep, beep… beep, beep… beep, beep…I pick up the phone. “Yes?”“Boss,” my private investigator says, “I have the information you need.”“Which of them?”“Desiree Blackwood.”Just hearing
The connection seems to take forever, each second stretching out as I wait for the call to go through. Finally, Bruno’s familiar voice answers, smooth and composed. “Mr. Hart, what a pleasant surprise.” “I need to talk to you about a guest you had at the Luminary Gala,” I say, going straight to the point. Bruno’s tone shifts, becoming more serious. “Of course, Mr. Hart. Which guest are you referring to?” “Her name is Desiree Blackwood. She was wearing a green Chanel dress, long and wavy red hair, expensive jewelry—” “I know who Desiree is, Mr. Hart. There's no need for the descriptions.” “Perfect.” “What has she done? Stolen something? Maybe the fine china?” he jokes. I’m no longer in the mood for his jokes. But his words hit home. That’s exactly what she did. She stole something. It may not be the cups and plates, as Bruno said, but she’s still a thief, nonetheless. Because she stole me; she stole my attention. I can forgive many things, but not this, not theft. No one