Jack approached Nathan with a warm smile. They shook hands, the kind that speaks of brotherhood rather than business. A quick hug followed before Jack's phone rang again — his wife, persistent as ever.
"Take over," he muttered to his manager, sighing as he excused himself to answer.
Nathan remained behind, shoulders squared yet distant, his expression unreadable. The party swirled around him — laughter, clinking glasses, dancing feet — but he stood like a monument in the storm. His gaze swept the room, landing on the dance floor, then drifting inward.
For a moment, the noise melted away. In his mind, he saw himself dancing — but not alone. Vicky was there, radiant, laughing, her eyes crinkled with joy. He found himself smiling, then stopped, puzzled by his own thoughts.
Why her? Again?
Shaking it off, he grabbed a glass of wine and found a quiet corner.
A striking woman approached, eyes gleaming with playful confidence. "You look like you could use a dance," she said.
Nathan looked up, one brow arched. "Are you having amnesia?"
She laughed. "Nope. I just spotted a handsome man all alone. Can't a girl be bold?"
"I'm afraid that's a crime these days," he replied coolly, sipping his wine.
Undeterred, she placed a hand on her hip. "Then arrest me."
"I'd rather not," he said, voice turning cold. "Not tonight."
Just then, Cinthia arrived, her heels clicking with purpose.
"Nate, please," she said gently.
He turned to her, eyes narrowing. "Did you set me up?"
"I just want you to have fun. You look like someone attending a funeral, not a party."
"I just ate a heavy meal, Cinthia. I can't be shaking that around the room."
"Just admit you can't dance. No one's going to laugh."
"I don't want to dance," he said, walking away, his voice leaving a sting behind.
Cinthia stood there, hurt flashing briefly in her eyes.
—
Elsewhere, Vicky watched the room, chin resting on her palm as she silently observed the laughter, the movement, the easy joy of others. Tonia joined her with a grin.
"There's your Prince Charming," she teased.
Vicky sighed. "Can you just… not? I'm enjoying this moment."
"That handsome guy over there — he's the one who stole your dessert, you know."
Vicky blinked. "Who?"
Tonia pointed at Nathan.
Vicky's breath hitched.
"I was right," Tonia smirked. "He's your Prince."
"No. I don't know him."
"Your face says otherwise."
"I don't know him. Maybe he just wandered in hungry and ate whatever he found."
Tonia leaned in, smiling. "I've known you since diapers. You're lying."
"I'm not lying. He's definitely not my Prince Charming." Vicky stood and walked off.
"That was personal," Tonia said, returning to her meal.
In the catering room, Vicky was fuming.
"I can't believe that Necro ate my dessert. He did it just to spite me. I just got this job. I won't react. But if I ever catch his…" she clenched a fist and spun around — only to find Nathan standing right there.
"…Face," she finished weakly, her raised fist faltering.
Nathan blinked. She's… beautiful. And strangely familiar.
"Go ahead," he said, voice unreadable. "Punch me."
Vicky tries to shake off the image of him, convinced she's just imagining things again. She wanders through the room, hands over her ears as if trying to block out the noise—or perhaps his voice in her mind. But Nathan is following her.
"I don't believe this," he says, exasperated. "You're everywhere. On the road. At school. And now, my business party? What do you want from me?"
He steps closer. "It's not money—you hate it. It's not my property either. So tell me… why are you stalking me?"
Vicky stops a few feet away, still clutching her ears, her eyes wide with disbelief. Nathan studies her, then chuckles softly.
"…Wait a minute. Are you in love with me?"
Without thinking, Vicky walks up to him—and bumps straight into his chest. The warmth. The weight. It's real. Nathan stumbles back slightly.
And she realizes: this isn't just in her head.
She hesitated, then shook her head as if trying to clear a dream. "You're… real?"
"Of course I'm real. You think I'm a ghost?"
"You snuck up on me like a Necro."
"You're the Necro, not me."
Their voices rose in a heated tangle of banter. Ruben, watching from a distance, chuckled.
"Those two need a room," he muttered.
Vicky spun away to avoid Nathan, gravitating toward the buffet. He followed. Chicken. Red meat. Dessert. Each step mirrored.
"Copying me isn't healthy," she said, cutting her meat daintily. "Vegetarians live longer, you know. Rich people prefer plants."
"You say that like you're rich — or were. And stop slapping that label on me. Offering you money the wrong way doesn't define who I am."
Vicky froze mid-bite. For once, speechless.
Ruben's jaw dropped. Did Nathan just… apologize?
Nathan turned to leave. Vicky reached for her knife — and accidentally sliced her finger.
"Ouch!" she cried, clutching her hand.
Nathan turned. His brow furrowed — not with annoyance, but… concern?
Ruben stood, ready to help. Nathan won't lift a finger. Especially not for her.
But to his surprise, Nathan returned. Calm, quiet, focused.
"I don't need your help," Vicky whispered.
Nathan said nothing. He gently took her hand and led her to the sink. The sting dulled beneath his touch. She stared at him — at the man who just moments ago was cold and aloof, now tending to her wound with silent patience.
He searched the cupboards and found a first aid kit. Bandaged her finger, tight and secure.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice fragile.
Nathan offered a soft, warm smile.
"When you want help, you ask. But when you need it… it comes on its own," he said quietly, then left without another word.
Vicky stood there, unmoving, staring at the white wrap on her finger. Her eyes followed him as he walked away, her mind turning, heart unsettled.
Nathan didn't understand what had just happened.
Neither did she.