As he talks about a new acquisition in Zurich, my gaze drifts—just for a second—across the crowded field.
And that’s when I see him.
A man I’ve never seen before.
Blond hair catching the sun like it was spun for him alone.
A navy suit tailored so perfectly it belongs in a museum—smooth over his shoulders, sharp down his frame, hinting at a body that looks far more like danger than decorum.
He stands with a confidence that isn’t arrogance; it’s certainty.
He’s speaking to someone important—judging by the person’s posture—but I can’t hear a thing over the sudden rush in my ears.
Because I’m staring. Helplessly. Entirely fixated on him. He’s…beautiful. Not in the polished way these men here are, all refinement and inherited grace. No, this one radiates something darker. Sharper. Brutal beneath the silk.
Jerry is still talking, something about a merger, but his voice fades into white noise. My focus narrows to the stranger as he finishes his conversation, offering a cool handshake before walking forward.
He moves like…God. Like a man who’s never been told no. Lazy dominance in every step. The kind of effortless power you can’t fake.
He stops at the front row of the display, hands slipping into his pants pockets, attention fixed on the lineup of cars as though he owns every single one.
Up close, even from a distance, I see the details that matter:
He’s tall. Broad. Controlled.
Suit immaculate.
Shoes polished to a quiet gleam.
And his eyes—
His eyes are an icy, merciless gray.
Penetrating.
Evaluating the world with the quiet interest of a predator choosing what to devour next.
He doesn’t blend into this crowd of princelings and investors.
He stands apart. Different. Dangerous.
The air around him hums with something I can’t name—something feral.
And then…as if he feels the weight of my stare, he turns his head. Our gazes collide. A shock runs through me: sharp, electric, grounding, and unmooring all at once.
For a split second, I forget how to breathe.
His expression doesn’t change.
He just looks at me.
Like he sees something—too much, maybe.
Like he’s been waiting for this moment without knowing it.
My fingers tighten imperceptibly around my champagne flute.
“Vivian?” Jerry says beside me, oblivious. “Are you listening?”
