apsed into a symph

fectly arranged tray of champagne flutes. My fingers trembled, narrowly avoiding the sharp edges. The cold liquid soa

d, their voice distant, muff

I'd find in their expressions. So I kept my head down, kept gathering glass, kep

he universe. *Let the floor

, as always,

f shoes entered m

uched anything as mundane as a sidewalk. Shoes that probably cost more than my mother's entire monthly medic

. I'd felt his approach like a shift in atmosph

et it be him. A

ctantly, I r

eyes m

s, lips that looked like they'd been sculpted by an artist who specialized in sin. His dark hair was slightly disheveled now, as if he'd been running his finge

cold-they were ancient. Like they'd seen everythi

me entirely. All that came out was a pathetic squeak

y voice cracking like the glass beneath me.

t anger, not annoyance, not even the disdain I expected. Just... nothing. An empty canva

s fi

ossively controlled that I felt them resonate somewhere in my chest. His voice w

s fi

em like a prayer answered. My shoulders relaxed slightly. My breathing steadied. M

pplicant, surrounded by broken glass and my own incom

rk stain spreading across the pristine leath

h, not quite a scoff. Something in be

he same neutrality he might use to comment on the weather. And he was right, of course. I pro

ecause it was the only thing

every pretense and defense. He was looking at me the way you might look at a paintin

e blee

s had sliced through my palm at some point during my cleanup efforts. Blood

d stupidly.

er

e next he was crouching beside me, producing a handkerchief from somewhere-pure white linen,

d him to feel cold, to match the ice in his eyes,

ly, his voice low enough that only I could

in his expression as he held the handkerchief to my wound. At the impossible reality of Ale

I whi

in his green eyes I hadn't noticed before. Close enough that I could smell him again-that in

y w

you hel

o identify, too complex to name. Then it was gone

he said simply. "And becaus

oice cut through the bubble

are. We've been l

y that surrounded the man still holding my hand. He looked at me, at the mess on the floor,

rrupting s

tood in one fluid motion. The handkerchief remained pres

d for a moment-just a moment-I saw something human i

d away, his friend falli

eard the friend ask as they

is voice carried back to me

a wait

ss, moonlighting for one night, an invisible servant in a world of

e brief moment, I'd

conversations and the party continued around me like nothing had happened. Sophie foun

ed? Are you okay?

aring at the spot where he'd disap

"Xander? As in Xander B

at her

untries. He's a billionaire, Ella. Like, actual billionaire. They write articles about him. Women throw themselves at him consta

ht of his handkerchief in my hand. The warmth of his fingers agains

in front of my face. "Hell

ng a smile. "I just... I

ts eventually departed, I couldn't stop thinking about him. Xande

nde

ur past. I thought about it as I let myself into our tiny apartment, as I

er Bl

end to a stranger's wound. A man whose eyes were frozen but whose touch was warm. A man who

ame on my lips, certain

e than an accident-a brief intersection of two

s wr