As Frida and I pass through the gates of the hotel, the estate stretches out before us. The car moves along the gravel driveway, each soft crunch beneath us reminding me that we're entering a space unlike any I'm used to. The air around us buzzes with an unspoken excitement, a sense that the weekend is already in motion, even if I can't quite place why.

The hotel ahead is grand, its elegant façade almost overwhelming in its beauty. The windows glint in the sunlight, and the building stands tall, welcoming in its own way. It's hard not to feel small next to it, but in the best possible way. The luxury of the place is evident, but it doesn't feel cold—there's a warmth to it that makes it inviting.

I'm not one for extravagance. I prefer simpler things, like a walk in the park or a quiet evening. But even I can't deny how stunning the place is. The guards stationed around the grounds are just part of the scene, doing their job without drawing attention. They're a reminder that this is an event where nothing is left to chance.

Inside the lobby, the energy is different—alive, almost tangible. There's laughter and conversation filling the air, a sense that anything could happen here. It's both exciting and a little overwhelming. Charles greets us with his usual smile, and for a moment, I feel more at ease. The bellboy takes our luggage, and as Frida moves off with Charles, I pause for just a second. I'm here, in this hotel, part of something bigger than myself.

The keycard in my hand feels solid, real, and I let myself enjoy the simple satisfaction of being in this space meant for us. The elevator ride is quiet, but the smoothness of it helps calm my nerves. When the doors open, I step out into the hallway, the plush carpet beneath my feet offering a sense of comfort. The room is just down the hall, and as I walk, the quietness of the place helps to steady my thoughts.

When I reach the door, I slide the keycard in, and the soft beep tells me I've arrived. The room inside is everything I'd expect—luxurious, but not in a way that overwhelms. Two queen-sized beds sit in the center, with dark headboards and soft linens. The sunlight filters in through the windows, giving the room a warm glow. It's peaceful here, and for a moment, I allow myself to relax into the space.

But even as I settle in, I can't shake the nerves that come with being here, with the weight of the weekend ahead. I'm excited, yes, but also aware of what's coming. My mother's reunion was healing, but soon, I'll face my father—and that brings its own set of worries.

And then there's Damian. His presence always makes me uneasy, and I can't escape the nervous flutter in my chest at the thought of seeing him.

My gaze falls on the small table by the window, where a chilled bottle of sparkling wine rests in a silver ice bucket, its surface misted with condensation. Two flutes wait beside it, a platter of delicate snacks—canapés, local cheeses, and fresh fruit—sits nearby, arranged with such artistry it almost feels like a gift.

I smile, the weight of travel fatigue finally slipping away. This room, this moment, is mine to savor.

It's going to be a good weekend.

I make my way to the bathroom, drawn to the bathtub that promises some much-needed relaxation. I can't resist. Unpacking my favorite bath essentials, I settle into the warm water, letting it envelope me in comfort.

The apricot face mask, a small indulgence I've come to enjoy, smooths over my skin, its sweet, fruity scent a reminder of summer. A few drops of eucalyptus oil transform the water into a soothing haven, the steam rising around me and carrying the minty fragrance that instantly relaxes both my muscles and my mind.

I pour a glass of sparkling wine, watching the bubbles rise in the flute like a quiet echo of the anticipation humming inside me. The outside world fades away as I take a sip, and for a moment, I'm completely alone in my thoughts—just me, the water, the wine, and the soft silence I've rarely allowed myself.

This is exactly what I need: a moment to reset, to breathe, and to let go of everything except this peaceful now.

The soft sound of the door clicking shut breaks the quiet of the room. I stay in the bathtub for a moment longer, not yet ready to leave the soothing warmth of the water. My ears catch the familiar rustling sound as Frida rummages through her suitcase, her movements steady and purposeful.

"Free?" I call out, my voice drifting through the bathroom door.

"Yep," she responds with a cheerful lilt. "I'm here."

I relax back into the tub, allowing the warm water to embrace me again for a few seconds. I close my eyes, listening to the soft hum of the room and the faint sounds of Frida moving around.

After a moment, the bathroom door opens with a soft creak, and Frida's silhouette appears in the doorway, framed by the soft light from the bedroom. She leans against the frame, her head poking through, and I hear her teasing smile in her voice.

"You still in there?" she calls, a playful edge to her tone.

I laugh softly, not missing a beat. "Just a minute longer."

I hear her chuckle before the sound of her footsteps fades as she heads toward the bedroom, rummaging through her clothes. I continue my soak, the water working its magic on my tired muscles.

When I finally step out of the tub, I wrap a towel around myself and make my way into the bedroom. The bellboy had already arranged our luggage neatly on the floor by the bed, and I pause for a moment, considering what to wear.

I open the suitcase and reach inside, retrieving the hair dryer tucked carefully at the bottom of the case. I make my way back to the bathroom, where I begin drying my hair, the warm air helping to ease me into the evening.

When I'm finished drying my hair, I step back into the bedroom. The tray of snacks catches my attention. I stuff my face with a few canapés.

"Why don't you take a shower?" I suggest, watching Frida as she's still picking through her clothes. "You'll feel more relaxed afterward."

Frida looks up at me with a grin and nods enthusiastically, setting down the outfit she was holding. She picks up her bath essentials and passes by me, I notice her towel-clad figure as she enters the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind her.

By the time Frida steps out of the shower, her skin glowing from the warmth of the water, I'm finishing up, adjusting the cuffs on my blouse and making sure my hair is just right. I glance over at her, smiling.

"I swear, you must have a whole boutique packed in that suitcase of yours," I tease as she rummages through the box of clothes she'd brought along.

Frida grins.

"You never know what kind of emergency outfit you'll need. A girl has to be prepared." She pulls out a dress with delicate embroidery, her smile smug as she holds it up. "What do you think?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Emergency outfit? This looks like a statement dress," I tease, my tone light with humor.

"But I'll admit, it's gorgeous."

She chuckles, tossing the dress onto the bed.

"Maybe I'll go for something a little more subtle," she says, still grinning. "But I'll need your help. Pick out some shoes?"

I laugh, nodding as I assist her with shoes and accessories, both of us smiling as we work together to get ready for the evening.

🍾🍾

The lobby is a whirlwind of activity, the buzz of conversation and laughter filling the air. It's busier than before, the energy shifting as more guests filter in, their excitement palpable. I catch snippets of chatter, laughter weaving through the air like a familiar melody, and feel a spark of excitement myself. There's something intoxicating about being surrounded by so much positive energy.

Frida and I stand near the center, effortlessly navigating through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries, and greeting familiar faces with genuine smiles. The warmth of the room reflects the warmth of the people in it, and for a moment, it feels like everything is exactly as it should be.

Charles, ever the life of the party, has gathered a small group around him, regaling us with yet another gem of a story. I lean in, curious, my gaze flickering over to Frida, who shares in the delight, her laughter echoing alongside the others.

"You won't believe this one," Charles begins, clearly relishing the opportunity to share his latest anecdote.

"One of our more reserved patrons—quite the scholar, mind you—decided to give the VR headset at the tech demo booth a try."

Frida raises an eyebrow, intrigued, while I suppress a giggle at the image of someone so buttoned-up trying to navigate virtual reality.

"He was hesitant at first, but curiosity got the better of him," Charles continues, clearly enjoying the suspense.

"So, there he was, headset on, completely immersed in this virtual game."

I can't help but imagine the typically stoic scholar, his expression focused, as he loses himself in a virtual world. It's a funny contrast to the academic air he must carry everywhere else.

"And then," Charles leans in with a conspiratorial grin, "he starts narrating his own actions in the third person, like he was giving a lecture! 'The scholar picks up the sword,'" Charles mimics in a stuffy voice, and we all burst into laughter.

I can barely contain my chuckles as I picture this man, completely shedding his formal exterior in the face of the virtual world.

"It seems," Charles says, his eyes twinkling with mischief, "even the most austere among us can't resist the charm of a good video game."

I laugh, shaking my head in disbelief.

It's moments like these that make me realize how much we all need to remember to take a step back, let go of the pressures of life, and enjoy the simpler pleasures—like an unexpected laugh over a virtual game.

The festivities are in full swing now, the air rich with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the chatter of mingling guests. Frida and I move through the crowd, each of us greeting the next guest with a bright smile, our roles as gracious hosts easy to slip into. I can feel the energy of the room, like a living thing, vibrant and welcoming.

But as much as I love the buzz of the crowd, there's a subtle shift when Frida raises her voice, commanding just enough attention to remind everyone of the schedule. Her tone is light, but there's no mistaking the authority in her words.

"Good Evening, everyone. Please keep in mind," she calls out with a knowing smile, "the hotel gates will be closing at 7 pm sharp. It's our sanctuary here within The Astaire, so be sure to enjoy it while you can."

The reminder is met with nods of understanding, a ripple of laughter following her command, as everyone takes a moment to check their watches or chat amongst themselves. It's a soft boundary, a gentle nudge that signals the start of the evening's more structured moments.

Frida and I share a glance, and I can see the spark in her eyes—she's in her element, enjoying the dance of organization and celebration in equal measure. I feel that same energy coursing through me, and though there's still a lot to do, I'm confident that tonight will be nothing short of spectacular.

As we step away to circulate and check in with the other guests, the mood is light, but beneath the laughter and chatter, there's a sense of something bigger—of the night being just the beginning of what's to come. And for a brief moment, I allow myself to savor the thought: it's a night where anything can happen, where the impossible is made possible, and where the people around us are as much a part of the magic as the venue itself.

🍸🍸

The lobby swells with energy, an orchestra of laughter and conversation echoing off the polished floors. There's a warmth in the air, the kind that only a night like this can create—effortless, alive with possibilities. I weave through the crowd, my gaze scanning the sea of faces, until one figure stands out. A woman, maybe in her thirties, with a tightness around her eyes that suggests she's carrying more than her fair share of weight. The joyous buzz around her seems almost in contrast to the heaviness she wears.

Something in me pulls towards her, like a quiet nudge from within. It's an understanding, unspoken but clear, that she needs someone—a friendly face, a gentle presence.

I move closer, my voice light and unassuming, hoping to break the stillness she's wrapped herself in.

"Quite the gathering tonight, isn't it?" I offer, my smile warm, like an invitation to share.

She glances at me, her eyes flickering momentarily before she looks down, her words barely above a whisper.

"Yes, it's... overwhelming."

I take a step closer, lowering my tone, offering her a quiet space amidst the noise.

"I'm Ruby, by the way. If you don't mind me saying, you seem a little distant from all the festivities. Anything you'd like to talk about?"

There's a hesitation in her eyes, but something shifts in her. Slowly, like a flower unfurling, she opens up.

"I'm Ava," she says, her voice more grounded now.

"I just got out of rehab... for alcohol. Being here, with all the drinks and celebration, it's... a lot."

My heart tugs at the vulnerability in her words. I place a hand gently on her arm, offering not just comfort but a space where she can breathe.

"Ava, that's incredibly brave of you. And coming here, surrounded by all these triggers? That's huge. How are you managing?"

She exhales slowly, her shoulders relaxing.

"It's tough, but I keep reminding myself why I can't go back. Why I can't let myself slip again."

"You're doing amazing," I say, my voice firm with conviction. "Would you like to join me somewhere a little quieter? There's a relaxation area—no alcohol, just a calm space to catch your breath."

Her eyes brighten, the tension lifting ever so slightly. "I'd like that, Ruby. Thank you."

I hand her my business card as we stand, the gesture small, but somehow meaningful.

"If you ever need someone to talk to, or if it gets overwhelming again, reach out. I'm here."

She smiles, a flicker of hope in her expression as she accepts the card.

"Thank you. I'll remember that."

Together, we walk to the quieter space. As we enter, I can feel Ava's body relax, the tension melting away. Her soft sigh of relief fills the air, and I feel a sense of quiet pride, knowing that sometimes, a simple connection can make all the difference.

It's when we reach the entrance of the space that I feel it—a presence behind me. A familiar warmth, a scent that is unmistakable. I turn, and there he is, standing so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath before I even hear the soft cadence of his voice.

"Graceful as always," Alex murmurs, the words carrying an admiration that seems to linger in the space between us.

I smile at him, my heart fluttering in the soft chaos of the moment. He's dressed casually tonight, a polo shirt tucked neatly into blue dress pants, a far cry from his usual sharp attire, yet he still manages to look every bit as striking.

"Fashionably late, I see," I tease, raising an eyebrow.

"And what's this? No suit and tie?"

He grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"For you, I'd break any tradition," he replies, offering me his arm, a gesture that feels so right.

Linking my arm with his, we glide through the crowd, the music swirling around us, the laughter of the guests rising and falling like waves. The evening feels lighter now, the earlier heaviness fading as I find comfort in Alex's presence.

"So, Alex," I begin, my curiosity piqued, "I've always wondered—what's it like running the company with your father? I can tell you're the one pushing the boundaries with all the innovations."

He smiles, but there's a flicker of something more beneath the surface—a hint of pride, maybe even a touch of frustration.

"It's a balancing act. My father has the connections, the reputation. But when it comes to where we're headed, that's all me. I'm the one who steers the ship, even if it's not always easy."

I nod, understanding more than he knows.

"It must be tough, carving your own identity when everyone expects you to follow in his footsteps."

"You're right," Alex admits, his gaze steady.

"But I don't want to be known just as his son. I want to make my own mark."

I smile, genuinely moved by his words.

"I have no doubt you'll do just that, Alex. You've got a vision that's all your own."

The clink of glasses, the soft hum of the conversation around us—it all feels distant for a moment as we share this understanding. I feel grounded in the moment, in the quiet connection we're building.

The scent of cedarwood and spice from his cologne swirls around me, mixing with the aroma of the cocktails nearby, as we raise our glasses in a quiet toast to ambition and the future.

The sound of the clock striking seven breaks the calm. I glance around, spotting Frida, radiant and alive with energy, holding a drink and surrounded by guests.

Turning back to Alex, I catch him distracted for a moment, his phone in hand, so I scan the room trying to take in the faces present and that's when I catch a glimpse of him.

Damian.

It's like a sudden shift in the air—a weight that presses down on my chest. I don't even have to see him to know he's there. But when my eyes lock onto him, it's impossible to look away.

He moves through the crowd with that quiet intensity that seems to part the people around him. His gaze scans the room, but when it lands on me, it feels as though everything else falls away. The buzz of conversation dims, the music fades. The space between us seems to stretch, and my pulse skips, too loud in my ears.

I quickly avert my eyes, my heart pounding faster than it should. I try to convince myself I can shake off the weight of his stare, but I know better. Damian is impossible to ignore. The air around me feels thick with the energy he exudes, pulling me in even as I fight to stay distant.

"Are you okay?" Alex's voice cuts through the haze, his concern sharp. I blink, refocusing on him, trying to mask the unease bubbling in my chest.

I force a smile, my words light but rehearsed. "It's the alcohol," I say smoothly, hoping the lie will stick. "I haven't eaten much today."

He gives me a skeptical look but doesn't press. "Let's get you something to eat," he suggests, guiding me away from the crowd.

I try to follow his lead, but the tension in my chest doesn't loosen. It only tightens with each step I take, my body stiff as I move through the crowd. I can feel Damian's presence like a shadow, his eyes tracking me even as I pretend not to notice. Every time I glance over my shoulder, our gazes collide, and I feel it—an invisible pull that I can't escape.

Alex's voice is a distant hum, but it barely cuts through the noise of my thoughts. "You sure you're okay?" he asks again, pulling me from the spiraling storm in my head.

I nod quickly, even though my stomach is in knots. "Yeah. I'm fine," I lie again.

We continue through the throng of people. The tension that came with Damian's gaze hangs in the air like a storm cloud. It feels like everything is stretching, dragging on longer than it should, and my mind keeps circling back to him, to the intensity in his eyes, the way he always knows where I am.

As we exit the hall, I finally exhale, the invisible strings that tethered me to him snapping, if only for a moment. The hallway is quieter, the air a little lighter. I try to shake off the tightness in my chest, but it's still there, lurking under the surface.

Damian's eyes—they haunt me, even when I can't see him. So distant, but so intense. The thought nags at me like an unanswered question, pulling me back to him.