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It’s elegant. Controlled. Exactly what tonight requires.

I smooth the fabric and exhale, trying to settle the restless, scattered feeling that keeps pulling my attention apart.

“Five minutes,” someone calls from the wings. I turn, and they’re there. Nate, Elias, Jace. Three men who look like they’ve never once waited for anything.

Jace’s gaze washes over me, and the raw vulnerability in it is almost painful to see. “You look gorgeous, Sugar.”

I let out a breath that could almost pass for a laugh. “Thank you, Jace. You clean up pretty well yourself.”

He grins, quick and fierce. But his eyes linger, the same way they did when he first looked at me, soft and dangerous all at once.

Elias steps forward, scanning the area once before his eyes land on me with quiet approval. “Everything’s ready?”

“Everything’s perfect.” I keep my tone even. “It always is.”

Nate stands behind them, hands in his pockets. “You don't have to pretend with us, Sloane.”

“I know.” I glance toward the curtain, where the sounds of the gathering crowd filter backstage. “But I do have to work with you. And right now, pretending is the only way I know how to get through tonight.”

For a fraction of a second, a muscle jumps in his jaw, though the corner of his mouth quirks. Pain or pride, I can’t be sure.

Elias clears his throat, glancing toward the stage entrance. “Let’s get through tonight.”

“Right.” My voice doesn’t shake, but I can’t stop the tremor in my hands.

Jace lingers as the other two move toward the stairs. When he finally looks at me, the warmth in his eyes nearly undoes me. “You are amazing, Sloane,” he says softly. “And when this is all over, I’m taking you somewhere special.”

I don’t answer. If I open my mouth, I’ll either cry or curse or melt into him, and I can’t afford any of those right now. So I just squeeze his hand, gently, then break contact and turn away before that warmth can undo me.

I walk back out into the crowd, stopping near the front of the ballroom, just off to the side of the stage. Clipboard tucked against my ribs, I watch Nate step into the spotlight to deliver the words we wrote together.

“Good evening.” His voice is low, measured. “Tonight isn’t just about technology; it’s about connection.”

Across the room, Elias stands beside the production equipment, keeping an eye on the monitors. Jace waits in the wings for his cue, occasionally glancing my way. Nate continues, is voice is steady, but his knuckles are white on the podium.

“At SOLAÉ, we believe intimacy isn't random. It's a language, and we've learned to decode every whisper, every touch, every shudder into something that can be understood, enhanced... perfected.”

The crowd shifts forward in their seats, a collective lean of interest. Camera flashes reflect off the mirrored walls; then a sharp crackle cuts through the speakers: a pop of static, followed by a piercing whine of feedback that makes the audience flinch.

The first breath comes through the speakers before the words do.

Mine.

I know it instantly.

"Yes... right there, don't stop."

For half a heartbeat I think I’m hallucinating. But no, the sound keeps playing, spilling into the silent space like a live wire.

"Please. Fuck, I need… I need to…"

Every conversation in the room dies at once.

A champagne flute shatters against marble. A ripple of whispers turns into a wave. I see a woman’s hand fly to her mouth, her eyes wide over her knuckles, while the man beside her just leans closer, hungry.

Somewhere in the audience, I hear Trey’s voice, hoarse, furious. “Turn that off!”

Nate's voice cuts through the air like a blade. "Kill it, now!"