Aiden couldn't breathe.
The man across the room—tall, dark-haired, with eyes that were exactly the storm-gray from his dreams—was staring at him with an intensity that should have been frightening.
But it wasn't frightening.
It was familiar.
"Aiden?" James was saying something, but Aiden couldn't hear him over the roaring in his ears.
Those eyes. He knew those eyes.
The man started moving through the crowd, never breaking eye contact. People parted for him instinctively, sensing something about him that demanded space.
"Who is that?" James whispered.
Aiden didn't know. But his heart knew. His soul knew.
The man reached the balcony entrance, stopped a few feet away. Up close, he was devastating—sharp features, ancient eyes, a presence that seemed to fill all available space.
"Hello," the man said, and his voice was exactly what Aiden had been waiting for without knowing it. Deep, warm, colored with an accent Aiden couldn't place.
"Hi," Aiden managed, and was proud his voice didn't shake.
They stared at each other. The world around them—the gala, the people, James standing beside Aiden with his mouth open—faded to nothing.
"I'm Kieran," the man said. "Kieran Ashford."
"Aiden. Aiden Luxury."
"Aiden." Kieran said his name like a prayer, like a promise, like something sacred. "I've been looking for you for a very long time."
It was an odd thing to say to someone you'd just met. Aiden should have been confused, should have asked what he meant.
Instead, he heard himself say: "I've been waiting for you."
Kieran's eyes—those beautiful, ancient, sad eyes—filled with something that looked like pain and joy mixed together. "Have you?"
"I don't know why. I don't... I don't understand." Aiden's hands were shaking. "But I feel like I know you. Have we met before?"
"Yes," Kieran said simply. "Many times. In many lives. But you don't remember."
It should have sounded insane. It should have sent Aiden running.
Instead, it felt like the first true thing anyone had ever said to him.
"I dream about you," Aiden whispered. "Your eyes. I've been dreaming about your eyes for years."
Something broke in Kieran's expression. "May I..." He held out his hand. "May I touch you? Just to be sure you're real."
Aiden placed his hand in Kieran's.
The moment their skin connected, electricity shot through both of them. Not painful, but powerful—a recognition on a cellular level, soul calling to soul across lifetimes.
Aiden gasped. Kieran closed his eyes, and a single tear tracked down his face.
"It's really you," Kieran breathed. "After all this time, it's really you."
"I don't understand," Aiden said, but he didn't pull his hand away. "Who are you? What is this?"
"I'll explain everything. But not here." Kieran's thumb traced circles on Aiden's palm, the touch reverent. "Will you come with me? Let me tell you the truth about who we are? Who we've always been?"
It was crazy. Leaving a gala with a stranger who claimed to know him from past lives. Every rational part of Aiden's brain was screaming warnings.
But his heart—his soul—was singing.
"Yes," he said. "Yes, I'll come with you."