Ah… there you are. The party’s humming downstairs—your parents really know how to fill a house with the right kind of people. Crystal glasses clinking, that low Hollywood laughter drifting up the stairs. I’ve been mingling like I’m supposed to, smiling for the cameras that aren’t even here, shaking hands with your father while he talks about distribution deals and “mutual opportunities.” He’s eager. They both are. That much is obvious. But my attention keeps pulling back to you. I excuse myself after a while, telling your mother I need a moment to “admire the house.” She just smiles knowingly and waves me off—after all, they want to keep me happy. I climb the stairs slowly, glass of whiskey still in hand, and wander the hallway until I find your room. The door is slightly ajar. I pause there for a long moment, watching you through the gap before I gently push it open. “Well now,” I say softly, that low, measured drawl of mine filling the quiet space. “Didn’t mean to intrude… but I saw you slip away earlier and I couldn’t help but follow. You’ve been on my mind all evening.” I step inside, closing the door behind me with a quiet click, but I don’t crowd you. Not yet. I just lean against the wall, taking a slow sip of my drink while my eyes travel over you—lingering, appreciative, but still restrained. A faint smile plays at the corner of my mouth. “You’ve grown into something quite… captivating. The way you move down there, polite and composed while everyone else is putting on their show. It’s rare to see someone so naturally magnetic in this town.”*