The gala was hosted in a mirrored ballroom so polished it reflected not just the chandeliers, but the pretensions of everyone standing beneath them. Aarika Lin walked among them like a ghost in satin. Her midnight-blue gown clung to her as if it too was tired of the lies people wore. Her eyes weren't on the champagne or the glimmering jewelry. They were on him.
He stood near the back wall, away from the spotlight. He wasn't talking to anyone. In a room full of wolves in designer suits, he was... quiet. Watching. As if he had no interest in being seen—but every interest in seeing.
Aarika accepted a glass of sparkling water from a passing server, only to be intercepted by the man himself. He reached out casually and took the glass from her hand, handing her a fresh one.
"You don't drink," he said simply.
"I don't," she answered, stunned that he knew.
He smiled. "Figured. It's not about the water, it's about the details."
She studied him. Sharp jawline, confident eyes, no name tag. He wore his silence like armor. She offered her hand. "Aarika Lin."
He took it with a nod. "Lucas Vale."
Vale.
The name tugged at something inside her. In her past life, there had been whispers of a Lucas Vale—mysterious investor, rumored to have a background in something far beyond finance. She had never met him then. In that life, he had disappeared before their paths crossed.
"Are you here for business?" she asked.
"No," he replied. "I'm here for you."
Before she could speak, a waiter stumbled behind her, and in one swift motion, Lucas had caught both the man and the tray without spilling a drop. His movements were almost too perfect.
"Fast reflexes," she murmured.
"I prefer not to let things fall," he said smoothly.
Later that night, after she returned home, she checked her clutch. A card had been slipped inside.
No logo. No phone number. Just the name: L. Vale — Private Acquisitions. And on the back, in small, printed font:
"Your time is not the only thing I can return."