The gala shifted into networking mode after Aria's performance—the stage lights dimmed, ambient music returned, and the guests resumed their natural habitat of deal-making and social climbing. Aria changed out of her performance outfit into a simpler black dress Victoria had provided "just in case," then reluctantly emerged to face the crowd.
She was immediately swarmed.
"Miss Chen, that was extraordinary—do you have representation?"
"My label would love to discuss signing you—"
"Our company hosts quarterly events, and we're always looking for fresh talent—"
Business cards materialized from every direction. Compliments and opportunities layered over each other until Aria's head spun. This was what success looked like—overwhelming, demanding, exactly what she'd always wanted.
So why did she keep looking for Dominic in the crowd?
"Aria." Victoria appeared like a guardian angel in Louboutins. "Mr. Hawthorne asked if you'd join him on the terrace when you're available. No pressure—he knows you're in demand right now."
"I can step away," Aria said, maybe too quickly.
Victoria's smile was knowing. "Follow me."
They navigated through the crowd to a private terrace Aria hadn't noticed during her walkthrough. Floor-to-ceiling glass doors opened onto a space with strategic heating lamps, elegant furniture, and a view of Manhattan that belonged on postcards.
Dominic stood at the railing, tuxedo jacket discarded, sleeves rolled to his elbows, looking at the city like it was a puzzle he was trying to solve. He turned when he heard the door, and the smile that crossed his face was pure, unfiltered happiness.
"Aria. You were..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Words seem inadequate."
"Try anyway. I like words."
He laughed—that genuine, surprised sound she was learning to recognize. "You were transcendent. Every person in that room felt something real tonight because of you. Including me. Especially me."
Aria joined him at the railing, leaving careful space between them. "Your introduction was beautiful. Thank you for that."
"I meant every word. Aria, I need to tell you something, and I'm going to be blunt because subtlety clearly isn't working for me." He turned to face her fully. "I haven't been able to think clearly since I met you. You've disrupted my entire worldview—made me question what I actually want versus what I've convinced myself I should want."Her heart hammered against her ribs. "Dominic—"
"I know this is complicated," he continued. "I know there are power dynamics and professional boundaries and about a hundred reasons this is a terrible idea. But Aria, I haven't felt this alive in years. Maybe ever. And it's not because you're beautiful, though you are. It's because you're real in a world where everything is performance. You care about things that matter, and you're brave enough to pursue them despite every practical reason to give up."
"You barely know me," Aria protested weakly.
"I've listened to 127 videos of you performing. I've read every interview you've ever given, which granted is only three because you avoid media. I've watched you teach children with patience I didn't know existed. I've seen you stand up to a billionaire in a park without flinching. Aria, I know you better than I've known most people I've dated for months."
"That's either romantic or stalkerish, and I haven't decided which."
"Can it be both?" His smile was self-deprecating. "Look, I'm not good at this. Dating, relationships, emotional vulnerability—these aren't my strengths. But you make me want to try. And if you're not interested, I'll accept that and we'll maintain a professional relationship and I'll quietly suffer while pretending I'm fine. But if there's any chance you feel even a fraction of what I feel, I'm asking you to give this—us—a chance."
Aria looked at him—really looked. At the vulnerability in his eyes, the nervous energy he was trying to hide, the hope he couldn't quite suppress. This was Dominic without his armor, offering her something precious and fragile: possibility.
"I'm scared," she admitted. "Not of you, but of how much I already care. Of how quickly this has happened. Of what it means if we try and fail."
"What if we try and succeed?"
"That might be scarier."
"Then we'll be scared together." He held out his hand, palm up, letting her choose. "One dinner. No business talk, no networking, just two people getting to know each other. If it's awful, we blame the wine and move on. If it's good, we figure out the next step together."
Aria stared at his hand like it was both lifeline and trap. Everything practical in her screamed to walk away—protect herself, maintain boundaries, avoid the inevitable heartbreak when his interest faded or the reality of their different worlds crushed whatever connection they felt.
But she thought about "Fractured Light" and the lyrics she'd written about being brave enough to want what you want. About letting light in through the cracks instead of sealing them shut.
She took his hand.
The contact was electric—not the dramatic fireworks of romance novels, but something warmer and more dangerous. Understanding. Recognition. The terrifying sensation of being seen completely and choosing to stay anyway.
"One dinner," she agreed. "But I'm picking the place. Somewhere real, where we can't hide behind fancy wine lists and pretentious ambiance."
"Deal." His thumb traced across her knuckles, a gentle touch that made her breath hitch. "When?"
"Tomorrow. Before I lose my nerve or convince myself this is a horrible idea."
"Six o'clock work? I'll pick you up."
"I'll meet you there. I'm not giving you my address until I know you're not secretly a serial killer."
"Fair. Though if I were a serial killer, I probably wouldn't have hired your boss and given you a legally binding contract with multiple lawyer reviews."
"Serial killers can be thorough."
He laughed again, and Aria realized she was addicted to that sound—genuine joy from a man who seemed to experience it rarely.
The terrace door opened. A woman in her fifties, elegant and sharp-eyed, poked her head out. "Dominic, the Jensen team needs a word about Q4 projections."
"Tell them I'll be there in five minutes."
The woman's gaze flickered to Aria, then to their joined hands, and something like approval crossed her face. "Five minutes. I'll stall them."
When they were alone again, Dominic sighed. "The downside of hosting your own event—you can't escape when you want to."
"Go do your billionaire thing. I should probably collect about eighty business cards and pretend to be interested in everyone's offers."
"Are you? Interested in the offers?"
Aria considered. Tonight had opened doors she'd been throwing herself against for years. Music labels, event coordinators, even a mention of a possible showcase at a real venue. These were the opportunities that could transform her from struggling artist to actual career musician.
"I'm interested in taking my career seriously," she said carefully. "But I'm not interested in becoming someone I'm not just to fit industry expectations. So I'll listen to the offers, but I'll be selective about what I accept."
"That's what I was hoping you'd say." Dominic squeezed her hand once more before releasing it. "Tomorrow, six o'clock. Text me the address."
"I don't have your number."
He smiled—playful, almost boyish. "Yes, you do. I've been texting you for two weeks."
"That could be anyone. Maybe Victoria's been ghostwriting your messages."
"Aria, we discussed your favorite sushi and flower preferences. Victoria would never engage in conversation that frivolous." He headed toward the door, then paused. "For the record, tonight wasn't just about your music being beautiful. It was about you being brave enough to share something real with a room full of strangers who didn't deserve it. That's the kind of courage I aspire to."
He left before she could respond, leaving Aria alone on a terrace fifty-two stories above Manhattan, with the echo of his words and the memory of his hand in hers.
She pulled out her phone and opened their text thread.
Aria: You're ridiculous.
Dominic: Probably. Is it working?
Aria: Unfortunately, yes. Tomorrow, 6 PM. I'll send you the address in the morning. And Dominic?
Dominic: Yes?
Aria: Thank you for tonight. For everything. For seeing me.
His response took longer this time. When it came, it felt weighted with everything unsaid.
Dominic: Thank you for letting me look. Sleep well, Aria. Dream about tomorrow.
Aria smiled at her phone like a complete idiot, then reluctantly returned to the party where her future was apparently waiting in the form of business cards and industry interest.
But her mind was already on tomorrow, and a dinner with a man who'd somehow become more important than any career opportunity.
Which was either the smartest or stupidest thing she'd ever done.
She'd find out soon enough.