The Grand Lyric Hall gleamed under a thousand chandeliers, each crystal catching flashes of light and throwing them across gowns, tuxedos, and champagne flutes like glittered confetti. It was a night of glamour, of accolades, and polished lies wrapped in silk and smiles.
Grace Laurent stepped out of the car like a queen arriving at her coronation. Her dress was midnight blue, velvet that kissed the floor, slit high enough to steal breath and modest enough to raise curiosity. Julian Sterling held her hand, his tux crisp, his charm casual.
The cameras loved them. So did the industry. Julian had become the face beside her in public, and though Grace played along for the cameras, her heart remained untouched. Julian was a comfort, warm, predictable, sweet. A brief interlude in a long, haunting melody.
Inside, the hall buzzed with anticipation.
And at the center of that buzz, seated among directors and award nominees, was Silas Vale.
He wore black, naturally. His suit tailored like it had been cut straight from the night sky. Hair tousled in that deliberate, devastating way. Eyes sharp enough to slice.
He saw her the moment she entered.
Not because of the cameras. Not because of the way whispers followed her like perfume. But because his obsession had turned into instinct.
Grace.
The name had become an ache in his bloodstream.
She didn't notice him at first, too preoccupied with hellos, photo ops, and Julian's hand at the small of her back. Silas watched, every move she made already memorized.
It wasn't until later, when the awards were mid-flow and Grace stepped away to find a quieter corner, that the moment arrived.
She turned and there he was.
"Ms. Laurent," Silas said, voice like velvet dipped in sin.
Grace blinked. Her gaze lingered for a beat too long. She recognized the face from billboards and film posters, but not from obsessions or cameras or bed sheets.
"You're… Silas Vale," she said, offering her hand. "Didn't expect to see you here."
He took her hand gently, brushing a kiss over her knuckles like a man out of time. "And yet here we are. Stars aligning?"
She laughed, surprised by her own smile. "I'd think a man like you chooses where stars go."
"Only when one particular star refuses to be charted."
Their eyes met. Hers curious. His hungry, but cloaked beneath a perfect mask of charm.
"Are you enjoying the show?" she asked, suddenly aware of how close they stood.
"I am now."
Grace raised a brow. "Is that your signature line?"
"No," he said. "Just the truth."
Before she could say more, Julian appeared at her side, offering her another glass of champagne.
Silas nodded politely. "Julian Sterling. I've heard good things."
Julian smiled. "All lies, I assure you."
"Pity," Silas replied, eyes still on Grace. "I prefer the truth."
The moment ended with polite goodbyes, but something had shifted.
As Grace returned to her seat, her thoughts trailed back to Silas, his voice, the way his eyes made her skin hum.
And in the shadows of his mind, Silas whispered to himself:
"Now we begin."