The private black Limousine pulled into the underground parking lot of the stadium, flanked by a sleek convoy. Dale family security fanned out like silent ghosts, their movements smooth and deliberate. When Lucian stepped out, the air shifted. In a perfectly tailored black suit, radiating control and mystery, he was impossible to ignore. Carlos followed with quiet authority. Then came Celeste, elegant,her arm looped confidently through her brother's.
They were guided swiftly into the venue's VIP section, a private space veiled in soft velvet and gold trim, overlooking the vast arena below. Thousands of fans pulsed like a living sea beyond the glass railing.
Then the lights dropped. A heartbeat passed. Then another.
And the stage flared to life.
He stepped into the light.
Elian.
He looked almost unreal, like something conjured from a dream dressed in layers of pale silk and a weightless white coat that fluttered with every step. His platinum hair fell in soft waves, and his skin, fair and luminous, seemed to glow under the spotlights. The roar that erupted was thunderous a wave of love and obsession that shook the very bones of the stadium.
Lucian didn't blink. Couldn't.
"Hello, Songbirds!" Elian's voice rang out, bright and warm.
"HELLO, ELIAN!" the crowd answered in unison.
"I missed you all so much," he said, walking to the edge of the stage. "Did you miss me?"
"WITH ALL OUR HEARTS!"
He laughed soft, airy, enchanting.
"Before we begin tonight... I'd like to have a little chat with you. Just us. Is that okay?"
The crowd screamed. "YES! YES! YES!"
"You get to ask me five questions," he said, lips curling into a mischievous smile. "Nothing too personal but I'll answer what I can, deal?"
"DEAL!"
"Okay. I'll pick three from down here," he gestured to the front rows, "and two from the VIPs."
Hands flew up instantly, voices shouting his name.
He pointed to a girl in sparkling lavender.
Fan 1: "What inspires your music?"
"My scars," he replied softly. "And the people I love."
A boy in a bright feathered jacket caught his eye next.
Fan 2: "What's your favorite lyric you've ever written?"
He smiled. "'Even when my wings break, I still fall like a star.'"
Then came the third fan a curvy girl with pink-dyed hair and glitter on her cheeks.
Fan 3: "Is your brother single?!"
The entire stadium howled with laughter.
Elian gasped in mock offense. "Oh my God you're bold!"
He turned slowly to the VIP section, eyes locking with his older brother. Joan Hart NBL royalty, towering, golden, and ridiculously handsome sat relaxed in a seat just past the Dales, arms folded, a proud look on his face.
"Big bro," Elian called teasingly across the arena. "They're asking about your love life."
Joan just smirked and lifted two fingers in a vague peace sign.
"Take that as a maybe," Elian said with a wink, earning screams.
Now the spotlight turned to the VIP section.
He pointed directly at Celeste Dale.
She stood, graceful as a swan. "Elian, what do you want to be remembered for?"
"That I sang with all my heart ," he said, with surprising softness.
Then came the final question from a sharply dressed man seated closer to Lucian.
Fan 5: "Are you single, Elian?"
The stadium exploded.
Elian raised a brow and tilted his head dramatically. "Really? That's the fifth question?"
He turned slightly, eyes sweeping across the VIP section. This time, not to his brother but to the dark corner where Lucian Dale sat, unmoving. Their eyes didn't meet. Not exactly. But something shifted.
"Hmm... Should I ask my brother to answer that too?" he teased.
Joan laughed from his seat, clearly entertained.
"But no," Elian went on with a coy smile. "You'll have to wait for the last song tonight to find out."
The crowd screamed again.
Carlos, standing behind Lucian, noticed his boss hadn't looked away from the stage once. His gaze hadn't flickered, hadn't faltered. And in that gaze hungry, still, almost reverent Carlos saw it clearly.
DESIRE...
The rest of the concert was nothing short of electric a fever dream of lights, sound, and pure, unfiltered emotion.
Fans danced without restraint, arms raised high, faces aglow under shifting beams of violet and gold. Glitter fell like stardust from above, catching in hair, lashes, lips. From every corner of the massive stadium, voices rose together thousands of songbirds singing his lyrics like scripture, like truth.
Elian was a vision, a force, a dream.
He moved like something not quite mortal all grace and light, his lean form flowing from one note to the next, one beat to another. When he sang, it was with everything his voice not just heard, but felt. A ribbon of silken strength that could lift hearts or tear them open in a single breath.
His hair, touched by the wind machines, moved like sunlight underwater. The sheer white layers he wore clung and fluttered like wings. And in the eyes of every person present he didn't look human.
He looked divine.
Celeste Dale had long abandoned her seat. She danced freely at the edge of the VIP platform, her gown shimmering with every movement. She sang along, laughed with fans, twirled with abandon letting herself be a girl again, untethered, joyful.
Carlos clapped and moved in rhythm, grinning to himself at the rare sight of her like this.
And Lucian?
Lucian didn't move at all.
He remained seated, legs spread in effortless power, his fingers laced together under his chin. His dark eyes never left the stage. Not once. Not for a single second.
While the world spun around him, while fans screamed and lights flared, Lucian Dale sat in utter stillness as if the boy before him was the only thing that existed.
He was lost in Elian.
Completely.
And something in that stillness was almost dangerous, not cold, but intense. It wasn't the look of someone admiring a performer.
It was the look of someone seeing something they never expected and being quietly undone by it.
The after-party shimmered with obscene wealth.
It was held at the Orchid Ballroom of the Centurion Hotel, a fortress of gold-veined marble, cascading chandeliers, and custom-scented air designed to smell like old money. Strings of laughter hovered in the air above glasses of aged champagne and imported cigars. The elite had gathered moguls in designer tuxedos, actresses glittering in gowns that cost more than most homes, heirs leaning against glass walls with boredom disguised as elegance.
The press had been ushered out hours ago.
Lucian Dale stood by the bar, untouched whiskey in hand, eyes fixed on the arched double doors.
He hadn't moved in fifteen minutes.
"God," Celeste whispered, fanning herself theatrically. "I think I'm going to pass out the second I see him."
Carlos, standing beside her in his fitted charcoal suit, gave a practiced chuckle. "In a bit. Try not to faint before the guest of honor shows."
But Lucian said nothing.
His gaze remained sharp, focused like a wolf scenting something just beyond reach.
And then, the room changed.
The music softened. The hum of conversation dimmed, as though the very air took a breath.
Elián Hart had arrived.
He stepped into the room flanked by his manager, Lily White, who kept a protective hand hovering near his back. But it was Elián who commanded the space he had changed from his stage attire into a sinfully elegant ensemble: a deep navy silk shirt tucked into tailored black trousers that hugged his slim hips, the collar unbuttoned just enough to hint at the pale line of his collarbone. His hair had been swept back in soft waves, revealing the full architecture of his face high cheekbones, delicate jaw, and those impossible ocean-blue eyes that seemed to trap light like crystal.
His presence was quiet. But it swallowed the room whole.
A chorus of subtle gasps followed him like perfume. Several Alpha CEOs straightened their ties. The daughters of billionaires whispered behind champagne flutes. Even the jaded crowd of film executives shifted, their eyes trailing after him as if drawn by string.
Lucian's fingers curled tighter around his glass.
A small wave of admirers began drifting toward Elián. Powerful men, influential women, all of them wanting a word, a touch, a photograph that wouldn't be taken. But Joan Hart stepped forward from where he'd been standing with his fellow NBL giants, a protective shadow cutting through the crowd. His voice was pleasant, but firm.
"Excuse me," Joan said smoothly, placing a casual yet unmistakably defensive arm in front of his younger brother, "he still has guests to greet."
The crowd backed off, their hunger masked by polite laughter. Joan' presence did most of the talking.
Elián gave a soft nod of thanks to his brother and continued his path through the crowd, offering warm handshakes and words of gratitude as he passed.
He was getting closer.
Celeste's breath hitched. "Oh my God. He's coming this way."
"Compose yourself," Carlos murmured, but his voice cracked slightly.
Then Elián was in front of them more breathtaking up close, if such a thing were possible. His skin seemed to glow under the chandelier light, his smile effortless and sunlit, his eyes the color of memory and impossible distance. When he looked at Celeste, it was with disarming warmth.
"Hi," he said, offering his hand. "It's lovely to meet you."
Celeste took it with reverence, nearly trembling.
"Elián, I love you so much," she gushed, losing every semblance of composure. "Your last album Heartsick Heaven it healed something in me, I swear. I've been your fan since God, since I was sixteen. You're everything, you're just-"
Elián laughed, soft and genuine, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth. The sound was a melody of its own.
"Thank you for being my super fan," and I'm happy to see you here today darling he said, glowing. Then his gaze slid toward the two men beside her, curious but polite. "And you are...?"
Carlos extended his hand with the poised professionalism of someone trained in proximity to power. "Carlos Dais. Pleasure to meet you. And this," he added, turning with slight deference, "is my boss. Lucian Dale."
Elián shook Carlos's hand with ease. "Nice to meet you, Carlos."
Then he turned to Lucian.
For one endless second, neither moved.
Elián held out his hand. "Mr. Dale."
Lucian took it slowly, reverently, as if it were a relic. His larger palm enveloped Elián's, fingers brushing skin like it meant something more. His voice was a rasp.
"The pleasure is mine."
Their eyes met, blue fire against midnight storm.
Elián's smile faltered, only slightly.
For that single moment, Lucian didn't see the crowd, didn't hear the music, didn't care that half the room was watching them.
He saw only Elián. The way silk clung to his waist. The slope of his neck. The defiant softness in his gaze.
Luminous fruit, Lucian thought. Beautiful. Untouched. Guarded. But he wanted to be the first to taste what lay beneath that velvet skin.