The white silk halter dress hugged Alexandra's frame like a second skin, elegant and effortless. Her soft waves were pinned back with delicate pearl clips, and her accessories were subtle but striking, dangling pearl earrings, a gold bracelet with milky white pearls, and a navy blue Hermès Constance bag slung over her shoulder. Her heels, ivory with delicate mesh bows at the ankles, made her legs look impossibly long. She took a final look in the mirror before slipping out of her bedroom, careful not to alert anyone at home.
It had been a long day. Her first day at the hospital had taken more out of her than she expected. The building had smelled of antiseptic and peeling paint. The equipment was outdated, the staff exhausted, and patients packed like sardines in the waiting area. Yet, something in her had felt alive again. The chaos forced her to focus, to move with instinct and purpose.
But tonight wasn't about duty. Tonight, it was about a reprieve.
Her phone buzzed.
Lali: "WHERE ARE YOU. I'm in the VIP section and these shots are NOT going to drink themselves!"
Alexandra smiled, slipping her phone back into her bag. Lali Patil. The 'airhead' heiress to a construction company who could not make it through college with even a single A. They'd met at a charity gala years ago and somehow stuck. Lali was dramatic, spoiled, and outrageously honest which is why Alexandra adored her.
The club pulsed with bass, a neon heartbeat under dim chandeliers. Alexandra breezed past the bouncers with her invitation and was immediately escorted to the VIP lounge.
Lali stood out like a peacock in a sea of sparrows. Neon green mini dress, platform heels, and a tiara. An actual tiara.
"OH MY GOD!" Lali squealed, nearly spilling her drink. "Is that the Constance in blue ostrich leather?"
Alexandra laughed as they hugged. "You know your bags."
"Are you kidding? My sales associate hasn't even offered me a twilly since my card declined. Ugh! Daddy cut me off because I flunked Econ midterm. He said, and I quote, 'Try living like a normal person for a week.' Can you imagine me—ME—taking the bus?"
Alexandra shook her head, amused. "Tragedy of the year."
"More like Greek tragedy, babe. Anyway, drink this." She shoved a glass into Alexandra's hand. "You're way too sober to be around me."
They clinked glasses.
A few drinks later, the atmosphere buzzed around them like static. Lali's eyeliner was slightly smudged, and her words came slower.
She stared at Alexandra for a beat, then tilted her head.
"How do they sit so well?"
Alexandra blinked. "What?"
"My boobs," Lali slurred dramatically. "They look like...two sad paperweights. Yours? Chef's kiss. Are they...like, real?"
Alexandra choked on her drink. "Lali."
"I'm serious! It's unfair. I'm a 32B on a good day. You're like a Renaissance painting with a black card. And I swear to God, if you tell me they just grew like that—"
Alexandra cupped her friend's chin gently and looked her in the eye. "Lali, you're perfect. I wouldn't change a single thing about you."
Lali blinked. Her heavily mascaraed lashes fluttered like confused butterfly wings. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," she mumbled.
Then she leaned forward.
Alexandra froze.
But instead of a kiss, Lali collapsed onto the plush velvet couch beside them with a soft 'oof.'
Alexandra exhaled, amused and concerned. She took out her phone.
"Come get your girl," she texted Lali's head bodyguard, Suraj, before smoothing a hand over Lali's hair. "I love you, but we are not having a scandal tonight."
As the guards arrived to gently escort the half-conscious heiress out, Alexandra slipped away toward the restroom. The club was packed, sweaty bodies dancing under flickering lights. She moved through the crowd, used to navigating chaos by now.
She freshened up in the restroom and stepped back into the corridor. That's when she heard it.
"Hey gorgeous, how much for the night?"
Two men, swaying and reeking of alcohol, blocked her path.
"Come on, sweetheart. Just an hour. We'll make it worth your time."
Alexandra's jaw clenched. Her fingers curled around her clutch.
"Move," she said sharply.
"Feisty. I like it."
Before she could deliver the scathing retort forming on her tongue, a shadow passed beside her.
CRACK.
The two men's heads collided with a dull thud. One stumbled, the other groaned.
A firm shove sent them both crashing toward a trash bin. One landed face-first.
A figure stood between her and them now, dabbing his hands with a white handkerchief before tossing it down like a soiled napkin.
"Trash," he muttered.
Alexandra's heart skipped a beat.
"Emrys...?"
Zhao Ruihan or how most people referred to him, Emrys Zhao, turned at the sound of her voice. The glint of steel in his eyes softened. The storm cloud shifted.
She took a tentative step closer. "What are you doing here?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he took a long look at her, his gaze lingering just a second too long on the curve of her bare shoulders, the slope of her neck.
"I was invited," he said at last, tone measured. "Networking event. One of my father's friends owns this place."
Alexandra raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you do clubs?"
"Since when do you?" he shot back, amused.
She gave him a look. "Touché."
He glanced at the scuffed heels of the two groaning men now being carried out by bouncers. "You okay?"
"I've handled worse."
"I know." He paused. "Still. I'm glad I was here."
For a moment, they stood in silence.
The music thumped faintly from the main hall. Lights flickered red, blue, gold.
"I could use a drink," he said finally. "Want to join me?"
Alexandra hesitated but only for a second.
"Sure."
The bar in the private lounge was quieter, more intimate. A low jazz remix played in the background, and candles flickered atop polished marble tables.
Alexandra sipped her drink slowly, the tension in her shoulders loosening.
Emrys leaned back, swirling his glass.
"You look…"
She turned to him.
"…like you're far from where you belong."
She gave a soft laugh. "That obvious?"
He shrugged. "Not to them. But I've known you since you were wearing strawberry print pajamas to Vincent's birthday parties."
She raised an eyebrow. "I thought we agreed never to speak of those again."
His lips twitched. "Memory's selective. I choose what to keep."
They fell into a comfortable silence. Not warm, exactly but familiar. Charged.
She looked at him, at the sharp cut of his jaw, the tension always coiled in his shoulders like he was ready for a fight no one else could see. There was something unreadable in his expression. And yet...
"Thank you," she said quietly.
"For what?"
"For helping me earlier."
He looked at her, eyes shadowed. "I'd do worse to anyone who touches you without permission."
Her breath caught. But he didn't elaborate.
Instead, he raised his glass again.
"To chance meetings," he offered.
"To well-timed punches," she countered.
They clinked glasses.
And somewhere in the background, the music shifted into something slower.
The night didn't stretch endlessly, but it lingered just long enough.
And as Alexandra stepped into the waiting car later, she didn't look back at the club.
But she did think about Emrys Zhao.
About the way he'd looked at her—not like he owned her. Not like he pitied her.
But like he saw her.
Whatever that meant.