The party venue is ridiculous. Golden chandeliers spill light like waterfalls, velvet walls drink in shadows, and the floor-to-ceiling windows gaze over the glittering skyline. This isn't a place where money whispers—it howls.
Aurora adjusts her collar, already feeling out of place.
The catering contract had gone to CozyCup, a small café barely known outside the neighborhood. For them, this is the biggest event they've ever landed. A dream. A miracle. A once-in-a-career kind of gig.
No one really questions how a tiny café scored a contract like this.
But if anyone looked hard enough—
Well, no one does.
"Rich guys' party," Luna mutters, lips curled into her signature smirk. "These people probably bathe their dogs in champagne."
Aurora bites back a laugh.
"Focus. Boss will have us grilled if she sees us slacking."
They begin to move through the crowd, weaving between guests with effortless teamwork. Luna's platinum blonde hair is tied messily to the side, her dark brown eyes catching the glow of the chandeliers.
Aurora walks beside her in contrast—quiet, collected, her black hair tied in a neat low ponytail that brushes her collar. She wears the CozyCup uniform: a fitted white blouse tucked into black trousers, a wine-red waist apron wrapped snugly around her hips. She doesn't dress to dazzle—she dresses to blend. Still, there's a grace in her restraint, a sharpness in her stillness.
Her brown eyes scan the floor more than the guests. She's not shy—just cautious. And in a place like this, caution feels like armor.
Her mind still drifts to Dio's unattended calls.
The air thickens with whispers.
"I heard the host hasn't even shown up yet."
"It's his birthday, isn't it?"
And then—
"Here comes Mr. Barone…"
A hush falls like a silk curtain. Women subtly adjust their necklines. The bartender straightens.
Aurora turns instinctively—and then freezes.
He walks in like he owns the oxygen.Tall—too tall to disappear into any crowd—lean, broad-shouldered, dressed in a crisp black suit tailored within an inch of perfection.His black hair is pushed back with just enough defiance, and his face… sharp enough to slice glass. But it's his green eyes—piercing, unblinking—that steal the breath from Aurora's lungs.
Her whole body stiffens.
Luna nudges her. "He's hot as hell. Girl, you're staring."
Aurora quickly turns away. "Shit… this is Dio's party. I'm not going near him." She murmurs under breath
"What's his name?" Luna grins.
"Dio Barone," Aurora mutters, too fast.
"How do you—"
"I overheard the guests."
"Oh? Birthday boy?" Luna smirks. "Or maybe my next date?" she teases
Aurora keeps her tray steady, but her heartbeat's anything but. Every few steps, she finds herself glancing at him. He heads straight for the bar, jaw tight, as if the whole party annoys him.
Is it because of me? He kept calling me did I ignore him too much
Aurora keep drifting to possibilities or may be a guilt for destroying his birthday.
Just as Aurora's beginning to steady herself, a drunken guest grabs her wrist.
"A night with me for a hundred pounds," he slurs.
Aurora jerks her arm back. "Let go of me"
"You're here to entertain us, aren't you?"
Before she can react again, a cold but firm hand lands on the man's shoulder.
"She might be a waitress," says a deep, threatening voice, "but she's not your toy."
Dio.
He pulls the man back with a quiet strength, his gaze as sharp as a blade. "Leo. Go home. Before your wife decides you're replaceable."
The man stumbles away, mumbling apologies.
Aurora stares at Dio, stunned. "Thank you," she says, voice barely audible.
But by the time she blinks, he's gone.
"You okay?" Luna hurries over.
"I'm fine," Aurora whispers.
Luna stares after Dio. "He's perfect. Kind, hot, dramatic rescue moment—ugh, I'm in love."
Aurora doesn't reply. Her stomach is still twisted from the encounter—and not just because of the drunk guy. She pushed Dio away. And yet… he still stepped in for her.
Geraldine's voice cuts through the room like a dagger. "Aurora! Drinks. Now. To Mr. Barone."
Aurora swallows hard and takes the tray. Her hands tremble, but she starts walking.
Each step feels heavier than the last.
"Sir, your drinks," she says quietly, eyes lowered.
Dio takes the glass without looking at her. Then, he speaks.
"I waited six hours."
The words slice into her.
"I'm sorry," she murmurs.
He takes a sip, then leans just a fraction closer.
"A date. This weekend. Seven o'clock."
His voice is calm. Controlled. Laced with a smooth Italian accent.But there's heat underneath—something raw and unsaid.
Aurora blinks. Her heart crashes against her ribs.
She nods.
And walks away, unsure if she's more terrified—
or thrilled.