The spotlight hit her like a kiss and a curse.
Aria Valen stepped onto the marble staircase of the Langham Grand Ballroom, her presence slicing through the noise like a blade of silk. The cameras shifted in unison—like they always did—and the room bent toward her gravitational pull. There she was: thirty years old, head of a couture empire, a woman carved from ambition and Valentino red.
Her dress—a black velvet column with a slit as bold as her stare—hugged her like it knew secrets. Her hair was twisted high, her makeup sharp, her gaze sharper. And yet, beneath all the glamour, Aria Valen was exhausted.
The Valen Atelier Winter Gala was the crown jewel of her brand’s social calendar. Clients, press, celebrities, investors—all in one room, expecting perfection. Tonight was no exception. But tonight felt different.
Her assistant, Margo, intercepted her near the champagne tower. “Your five o’clock cancelled. He’s sending regrets. But Sophia from Vogue is looking for you.”
Aria nodded coolly, scanning the crowd. “Tell Sophia to give me ten minutes. And get rid of anyone trying to pitch tonight. I’m not working this room for favors.”
Margo hesitated. “And… there’s been a minor security alert. Something about a back entrance being tampered with. Building security’s been doubled, but protocol says—”
“I’m fine,” Aria cut in. “This is a gala, not a war zone.”
Margo didn’t look convinced. “They’ve already dispatched someone from Falcon Security. A new assignment. Ex-military.”
Aria sighed. “So I get a watchdog for the evening?”
Before Margo could answer, the ballroom doors opened behind them—and for a split second, the atmosphere shifted. Not enough for the press to notice. But Aria did.
She turned. And saw him.
Kai Mercer.
He didn’t move like a man new to this world. He moved like someone who had already calculated every angle of the room. Black suit tailored to his broad frame, eyes scanning, jaw tight. No earpiece, no clipboard, no nerves. Just quiet, lethal focus.
And then—his gaze landed on her.
It wasn’t a look. It was an impact. Like he’d just identified a target.
Aria held his stare, chin lifted. Testing.
Kai said nothing. But something in his eyes flickered, just once. A shift. And then he approached.
He stopped exactly two feet from her.
“Ms. Valen,” he said, his voice low, disciplined. “I’m Kai Mercer. I’ve been assigned to your protection detail.”
Her lips curved. “Assigned? That sounds terribly impersonal.”
“I’m not here to make it personal.”
That earned him a look. “How fortunate for us both.”
Before he could respond, Margo whispered something into Aria’s ear.
Another threat alert. Higher level. This time from a credible source. Anonymous, with language too specific to dismiss.
Aria’s instinct was to stay. Power didn’t flinch. But something in Kai’s stance made her pause.
He was already on his comm, his voice low and clipped, issuing orders she couldn’t hear. His presence alone drew attention. Women stared. Men watched warily. And when he stepped closer—just enough to be in her space—he said, “We’re leaving. Now.”
“I don’t leave my own gala because of anonymous threats.”
“You do when they name the exact exit route of your car service and timestamp your entrance through the south stairwell.”
That made her still. Only her closest team had that information.
Aria exhaled tightly. “Fine. But I won’t crawl out the back like a scared girl.”
Kai’s jaw flexed. “You’ll walk out like a queen. With me in front of you.”
The car was waiting in a private service alley, the engine humming. Aria climbed into the back seat with a practiced elegance, Kai sliding in after her on the opposite side. The air between them was tight.
Outside, the city blurred past—flashes of paparazzi lights ricocheting off the windows like miniature lightning strikes.
“You’re going to tell me who’s behind this,” she said, crossing one leg over the other. “Tonight.”
“I’m going to tell you what you need to know when it’s confirmed. Not before.”
Aria turned toward him. “You’re used to giving orders. I don’t take them.”
“I’m used to protecting people who are important enough to be targeted.”
Silence. That one hit closer than it should’ve.
Then, in a voice like cooled steel, she asked, “Do you think I’m important, Mr. Mercer?”
He looked her dead in the eye. “I think you’re a walking headline waiting to happen. And if someone wants to hurt you, they won’t wait for you to give permission.”
The car went quiet again. Aria turned to the window, but her skin was prickling. He wasn’t like the others. Most men in her orbit tried to charm her, impress her, outmatch her. Kai didn’t try at all.
And somehow—that was worse.
⸻
Later that night, alone in her penthouse, Aria stared out at the skyline. A glass of wine in hand, heels kicked off, the dress discarded like armor on the floor.
She should’ve felt safe.
Instead, her mind replayed every second of that car ride.
The distance he kept.
The way he looked at her—not as a woman, not as a CEO, but as something… volatile.
Dangerous.
Downstairs, she knew he was there. Posted in the lobby. Watching entrances. Screening calls. Professional.
But upstairs, her chest ached in ways she hadn’t felt in years.
Maybe it was the stress. Or maybe—
Maybe it was that first glance.
The one that said: I see you.
The one that felt like the beginning of something neither of them could afford.
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