Amira Cole didn't belong in rooms like this.
Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling of the Orchid Towers ballroom, the soft golden lighting bouncing off diamonds, champagne glasses, and people who owned the city. She stood near the back, holding a tray of wine flutes, praying no one noticed how nervous she was.
Her black dress was simple. Too simple. The kind that said she was part of the staff, not the part that mattered. But she needed the money. Rent was due. Her sister's school fees were waiting. And Lagos didn't care about dreams , it cared about who could pay.
She exhaled slowly and adjusted the tray in her hands.
"Amira, smile," her supervisor hissed as she passed behind her. "These billionaires tip when they're in a good mood."
Amira forced a small smile. She didn't mind the work, but the stares from guests always made her feel like she was made of glass , fragile and on display.
Then he walked in.
Tall. Sharp jawline. Dark hair brushed back in a careless but expensive style. Black suit tailored like it was part of his body. He didn't just enter the ballroom , he owned it the moment he crossed the door.
Jaxon Reid.
The youngest and coldest billionaire in the room. The kind whose name made investors stand up straighter. The kind who didn't believe in mistakes , or forgiveness.
He walked past her without looking, but she felt his presence like a shift in the air. Her heartbeat quickened.
Focus, Amira.
She took a step forward to offer champagne to a nearby couple…
…and the heel of her shoe slipped.
The tray jerked.
Her arm swung.
The glasses tipped.
And ice-cold champagne spilled directly onto Jaxon Reid's suit.
The entire ballroom froze. Conversations stopped. Every head turned.
Amira's breath caught in her throat.
"Oh my God— I'm so sorry!" she whispered, dropping to her knees instinctively as she tried to dab at his suit with trembling hands. "Sir, I didn't, I mean, It was an accident…"
"Stop."
His voice was low, calm, and dangerously controlled.
She froze, still holding a napkin, staring at the dark stain spreading across his tuxedo.
Jaxon looked down at her , not with anger, not with disgust, but with something far worse.
Curiosity.
"What's your name?" he asked quietly.
Amira's stomach twisted. No guest ever asked for a staff member's name. That only meant trouble.
"A-Amira. Amira Cole."
His eyes lingered on her face longer than necessary, scanning every inch like he was trying to understand something.
"Amira," he repeated, as though tasting the name.
Her heart thudded painfully.
"I… I'll pay for the suit," she blurted out, even though she knew she couldn't afford to replace even one button on his jacket. "I swear, I didn't mean…"
"You can't afford it."
His tone wasn't mocking. Just brutally honest.
Tears stung her eyes from a mix of shame and fear. "Please… please don't report me. I really need this job."
Jaxon didn't reply immediately. He just studied her , her trembling hands, her flushed cheeks, the humiliation she was drowning in.
Then he leaned in slightly and said,
"Report you? No."
A pause.
"I'm far more interested in why you are so afraid."
Amira blinked. "What?"
He straightened, his eyes still piercing into her. "Meet me after the event," he said simply. "I want to speak with you."
Her breath stopped. "Speak with me? Why?"
"Because…" He let his gaze drag over her face again, unreadable.
"…I don't believe in accidents."
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Amira kneeling on the polished floor, her heart pounding like a trapped bird.
Tonight, she hadn't just spilled champagne.
She had caught the attention of a man who never looked at anyone twice.
And that was the beginning of everything.