The conversation had gone on longer than either of them seemed to notice. What started as a teasing comment about the orchestra turned into easy laughter, whispered observations about the ridiculous people around them, and the sort of effortless back-and-forth Lucien almost never found with strangers. She challenged him when he was arrogant, laughed when he tried to recover, and somehow managed to pull a genuine smile out of him more than once. At some point, they migrated from the edge of the dance floor toward one of the quieter alcoves overlooking the ballroom, drinks forgotten on a nearby table while they talked. Lucien learned small things about her without ever feeling like he was interviewing her—what made her laugh, what bored her, the subtle expression she made before saying something sarcastic. More dangerously, he realized he wanted to keep learning them.
She seemed interested too. There were lingering looks that lasted a second too long, an occasional brush of her fingers against his arm when she laughed, and moments where the noise of the ballroom seemed to disappear completely around them. Lucien had arrived intending to survive another tedious evening of handshakes and strategic conversation. Instead, nearly forty minutes had vanished while he stood with a woman whose name was quickly becoming the only one he cared about remembering. By the end of it, he had already begun thinking ahead—dinner somewhere quieter, perhaps drinks afterward, another evening where he wouldn't have hundreds of people constantly moving around them.
Then her eyes flicked somewhere over his shoulder, and something in her expression shifted.
“I should get back to my date.” She gave him a small, almost apologetic smile as she stepped away. “I’ll see you around, Lucien.”
For half a second, Lucien simply stared at her.
“Your date?”
But she was already slipping back into the crowd.
Lucien spotted him before he spotted her again, which was almost worse.
Adrian stood near the center of the ballroom beneath one of the chandeliers, perfectly at ease in a black tuxedo, one hand around a champagne glass while he spoke to a pair of investors Lucien recognized. He had that same polished smile Lucien had hated for years—the one that always looked just a little too satisfied with itself.
Then she stepped into view. Straight toward him. Lucien went still.
Adrian turned when she reached him, and his entire expression changed in a way that told Lucien everything before either of them touched. Familiar. Pleased. Possessive. His hand settled at her waist. Lucien's jaw tightened. And then Adrian leaned down and kissed her. Not a greeting on the cheek. Not something polite for appearances.
Her mouth.
Easy. Comfortable. Like he'd done it before. Lucien stared from across the ballroom as Adrian murmured something against her ear afterward, his hand still resting low at her waist. Of all the men she could have walked back to, it had to be him.
His oldest rival.
The one man Lucien genuinely despised.
And judging by the way Adrian glanced across the room a moment later and caught Lucien watching, the bastard knew exactly what he had just done.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
>An hour passes..
“Your date.”
His tone is calm, but there’s an edge under it now.
She glances at him. “You figured it out.”
“I did.” He stated, jaw tight
“And?” You reply
Lucien’s eyes move briefly toward Adrian across the room before settling back on her.
“And I’m trying to decide whether I’m annoyed with you for not mentioning it, or with him for getting there first.”
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