Chapter 3

The night of the gala arrived faster than Aria would have liked.

She stood in the back of her café, surrounded by trays of finger foods and neatly boxed desserts, her apron swapped for a simple black dress she’d dug out from the depths of her closet. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was neat and professional enough to blend in as catering staff. Still, she tugged at the hem nervously, wondering what she was doing walking into his world again.

She loaded everything into the van she’d borrowed from her neighbor, whispering to herself, Just work. Take the money. Then get out.

The venue was a mansion on the edge of the city, its driveway lit with golden lanterns that glowed against the night. Expensive cars lined the cobblestone, guests stepping out draped in gowns and tuxedos that looked like they cost more than her café equipments combined.

Aria gritted her teeth as she unloaded trays. The staff entrance was at the side, where a cluster of servers in white shirts and black vests smoked and gossiped before their shifts. She pushed past them, forcing her nerves down.

Inside, the air was heavy with perfume and polished elegance. The chandeliers glittered overhead, the marble floors gleamed underfoot. Aria carried her desserts to the catering table, arranging them with careful precision. Her hands shook slightly, not from nerves about the food, she trusted her baking more than anything but from the awareness that he was somewhere in this house.

Damian Cole.

It didn’t take long.

“Aria.”

She froze.Was this the first time he was calling her by her first name? For some reason, it felt like it. Maybe it was the expensive perfume she's been inhaling since she got there, she thought. His voice was smooth, low, and unmistakable. She looked up from her tray of strawberry tarts.

Damian stood in front of her in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, black bow tie precise, shoes shining like obsidian. He looked nothing like the man who had stepped into her café that morning with eviction papers. Here, in his world, he looked untouchable. Sharp. Dangerous.

And devastatingly handsome.

She hated that she noticed.

“You made it,” he said simply.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” she shot back. “I don’t back out of work.”

His mouth curved slightly, almost...but not quite...a smile. “Good. Because the client is expecting nothing short of perfection.”

She arched a brow. “Then you came to the right person.”

For a second, something flickered in his eyes. Admiration? Respect? She couldn’t tell, and she wasn’t about to dig for it.

The music swelled as guests flooded the hall, laughter and champagne mingling in the air. Aria slipped behind the catering table, offering her trays to passing guests. The compliments came quickly...“These are divine!” “Who made these?” “Better than anything in the city!”...but she didn’t allow herself to glow with pride. She had bills to pay. Pride didn’t matter.

Across the room, though, she caught Damianwatching her. Not openly though, he was too controlled for that, but every time she lifted her head, his gaze was there, lingering longer than it should.

Later, as the crowd thinned toward the ballroom, Aria carried a fresh tray of pastries through the side corridor. She turned a corner and nearly collided with him.

Aria’s hand shot out, steadying the tray before it toppled. Their fingers brushed, and the spark that jolted through her made her breath catch.

“Careful,” he murmured.

Her cheeks heated. “I don’t need saving.”

“I wasn’t saving you,” he said, his voice low. “Just the tarts.”

Despite herself, a laugh slipped from her lips. The sound seemed to surprise them both.

Damian ’s eyes softened, just for a moment, before his mask returned. “You’re doing well tonight.”

“You sound shocked.”

“I’m not. I knew you would.”

The simple certainty in his tone rattled her more than any of his insults ever had. She swallowed, suddenly too aware of how close they were in the narrow corridor, how his cologne wrapped around her like a dark, expensive secret.

“I should...” she began, but her words faltered when his gaze dropped briefly, dangerously, to her mouth before snapping back to her eyes.

Her pulse stuttered.

The silence stretched, charged and suffocating, until she shoved past him, tray clutched tight, heart hammering in her ribs.

By the end of the night, her feet ached, but the applause for her desserts had been endless. The host pressed an envelope of cash into her hands, calling her “a hidden gem.” Aria tucked it into her purse with shaking fingers. This would cover a fraction of what she owed, but it was something.

She was loading the last of her empty trays into the van when Damian appeared again, his tuxedo jacket slung over one arm, his tie loosened.

“You impressed them,” he said.

“Of course I did,” she replied, too tired to sugarcoat.

He studied her for a long moment, as though he wanted to say more. Instead, he handed her a small card. “There’s another client who might be interested in your services. Call them.”

She frowned at the pristine card, his elegant handwriting scrawled on it. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because,” Damiansaid, stepping closer, his voice dropping to something meant only for her, “I’d rather see you fight than fold.”

Her breath hitched.

The distance between them was nothing now. Just inches. Her back brushed against the cool metal of the van, and he was right there, all sharp lines and heat, his gaze locked on hers like gravity itself had chosen this moment to betray her.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered, though her voice betrayed her.

“Like what?” His tone was silk, but his eyes were wildfire.

“Like…” She faltered. The air between them was electric, thick enough to choke on. “…like you want something you shouldn’t.”

Aria’s jaw tightened. For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then, slowly, deliberately, his hand lifted, hovering just beside her cheek... not touching, but close enough that she could feel the ghost of his warmth.

“Aria,” he said softly, warning and confession all at once.

Her breath shuddered out of her, and the tray she’d been holding slipped slightly in her hands. The clatter startled them both, snapping the moment in half.

Damianstepped back immediately, his expression shuttering like steel doors slamming shut. He cleared his throat, “Goodnight, Aria.”

And before she could reply, he turned and walked into the shadows, leaving her trembling against the van, pulse racing with something she wasn’t ready to name.