Like he's been saying my name in his head for hours.
I take a breath and force myself to turn around.
A man stands in the doorway.
Tall.
Well over six feet.
The kind of tall that makes you feel small even when you're across the room.
The dark suit that fits him like it was made for his body specifically, because it probably was.
Every line perfect. Every detail exact.
Dark hair.
Dark at first glance, but as he steps into the firelight, I see it's actually brown.
Deep brown. Styled precisely. Not a hair out of place.
And his eyes?—
His eyes are exactly as I remember from the stage.
Ice blue. Unnatural. Beautiful and terrifying.
He's beautiful.
That's the first thing my brain processes.
He's beautiful in the way predators are beautiful.
Sharp lines. Perfect proportions. Symmetrical features that look like they were designed rather than grown.
The kind of face that belongs in museums or on movie screens.
Mid-thirties, maybe.
Young to have the kind of money he must have.
Young to be here, bidding millions on human beings.
Young enough that this should feel different somehow, but it doesn't.
He's looking at me like he did from the audience.
Like he's memorizing every detail.
Like he's cataloging me.
His gaze moves over my face, my hair, my body in the white dress.
Not sexual, exactly.
More like assessment.
Like he's making sure he got what he paid for.
