4 months ago...
The sharp chill of a November evening pressed against the tall windows of the Harrison estate, fog curling like smoke over the manicured lawns beyond. Inside, the grand hall was warm and radiant, a refuge from the biting cold outside. Crystal chandeliers spilled golden light onto polished marble floors, their reflections dancing on the gilded walls adorned with centuries-old portraits of the Harrison lineage — stern faces that seemed to watch over the night's gathering with quiet authority.
The Harrisons were a dynasty carved out of old money and power, their name whispered in boardrooms and country clubs alike. Tonight's party was their tradition — a flawless display of wealth and influence, where every detail spoke of legacy: the vintage wines, the rare art, the string quartet playing in the corner.
Sarah lingered near the ornate fireplace, a quiet silhouette in a fitted black dress that hugged her figure with understated grace. Her hair was half-tied, soft waves cascading over her shoulders, catching glints of amber from the chandelier above. She looked like she belonged — and yet, didn't. The kind of beauty that didn't demand attention, but quietly earned it.
Her fingers curling loosely around a glass of champagne — one that Chloe had hastily pressed into her hand just moments before being swept away by a stranger with an easy smile and eyes that didn't wait for names. "Be right back," Chloe had mouthed with a wink — and then she was gone.
Now, Sarah stood alone in a room full of silk and conversation, her eyes quietly scanning the sea of pearls and polished shoes for one familiar face.
She moved gently along the edge of the crowd, the soft rustle of her dress barely audible beneath the low hum of strings and clinking glasses. Every conversation seemed to float above her head — politics, legacy, vacations in places where time moved slower. None of it touched her.
Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor as she wove past a cluster of women in fur-trimmed shawls and a man laughing too loudly at his own story. The warmth of the room pressed closer with every step, and still Zoe was nowhere.
And then — a turn, a step, and she collided with someone cutting sharply across the corridor.
A man.
Tall. Black suit. Coat draped over one arm. His shoulder caught hers, firm and fast, and the champagne in her hand wobbled dangerously.
"I—"
"Damn. Sorry."
His voice was calm, measured — the kind of apology that landed like a verdict. His gaze dropped to her hand, then rose to meet her eyes. Cool. Composed.
"You good?"
Not concerned — checking. Like a man who didn't often cause accidents, and didn't particularly like when he did.
Sarah straightened her glass, nodding once. "Yeah. All good."
He held her gaze for half a second — not searching, not apologetic. Just measuring.
Then a faint nod, not quite polite, and he continued on.
Unbothered. Certain.
Like the world would make space for him, wherever he went.
Sarah placed the glass on the nearest table — no need for a second collision tonight. The last thing she wanted was a stain down the front of her dress and a spotlight of gasps from old-money wives.
She turned to scan the crowd again — and finally, a familiar voice rang out from the other side of the room.
"There you are! I was about to file a missing person's report."
Zoe swooped in, arms midair like she might actually hug the oxygen. Her velvet green dress shimmered as she moved, curls bouncing, expression bright with the kind of social energy Sarah could never quite compete with.
"You're glowing," Sarah teased, her lips curving slightly.
"I'm sweating," Zoe shot back. "Don't confuse it with joy."
Sarah laughed. "Big day stress?"
"Four months out and I've already aged six years. Do you want to see the seating chart? No, you don't. It's cursed. I had a dream last night where the napkins walked out."
"Understandable. No one wants to sit next to your aunt Miriam."
Zoe gasped. "You remember! She's still bitter no one clapped when she did that piano solo in 2004."
"Silence is a form of appreciation."
"She didn't think so."
They laughed together, Zoe fanning her face dramatically. Then, with a mischievous glint, Zoe leaned in.
"So… landed any handsome men yet or are we still in the scouting phase? I have contacts. Powerful ones. I can make things happen."
"I barely made it through the door without tripping. One miracle at a time."
"That's a yes. Who is he? What's he wearing? Don't lie, I know your face."
"Zoe."
"Black suit? Strong jaw? No wedding ring? Tell me."
"I bumped into someone. Literally."
Zoe's eyes widened. "You physicallycollided with a man and didn't get his name? Rookie mistake."
Sarah gave a helpless shrug. "I was too busy saving the wine."
"Unbelievable. Next time, drop the wine. Prioritize the man."
"Noted."
Zoe linked arms with her, clearly thrilled. "Come. You're with me now. Let's mingle. Let's scheme. Let's mildly judge people for sport."
"Finally," Sarah said, straight-faced, "a reason to exist."
Just as Zoe was about to launch into a monologue about the dangers of letting her fiancé handle cake tastings alone, Chloe appeared — radiant and breathless.
"There you are!" she said, addressing no one in particular but somehow everyone at once.
"Speak of the devil," Zoe grinned. "We were just about to send out a search party. Sarah was moments from lighting a candle in your honor."
"I've been busy," Chloe said, her tone playful but her eyes flicking toward a corner of the room. "Also — that man over there asked me what I do, and I accidentally said I was in shipping logistics."
"You're not," Sarah pointed out.
"I know. But I panicked. He was gorgeous, okay? Like... Vogue-meets-Vanity-Fair level of gorgeous. And very tall. Dangerous combination."
"Oh no," Zoe whispered, delighted.
"Also," Chloe added quickly, "I might have said I speak fluent French."
Zoe choked. "You barely passed Spanish."
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Please tell me he didn't start speaking it."
"He did. And I responded with the lyrics to 'Voulez-vous coucher avec moi' before bolting."
Zoe burst out laughing.
"I was buying time!" Chloe defended, laughing too now. "Anyway, he asked if I wanted to get some air and I said yes. So I'm going."
"Wait—" Sarah started.
"Oh! Here—" Chloe shoved her wine glass into Sarah's hand with surgical speed. "Keep this safe. Or drink it. I'll be back. Maybe."
She was already halfway across the room before they could say another word — weaving through the crowd, practically glowing in her soft champagne dress.
"God, I love her," Zoe sighed.
Sarah looked down at the glass now in her hand, then back toward the space where Chloe had vanished. Again!
"She's either going to marry that man," she said, "or end up explaining supply chain metrics in fluent nonsense."
"Both are solid outcomes," Zoe replied, looping her arm through Sarah's again. "Now, come. I have a feeling the real night hasn't even started."
Sarah didn't know yet that tonight was actually the beginning of something.
But the air had already shifted.