Three days passed. The city, ever restless, had already moved on to its next obsession. The Dantes' gala was the talk of every column now — a glittering celebration of unity, wealth, and illusion.
Inside his office, Luca stared blankly at the blueprints spread across his desk. The numbers made sense. The equations balanced. But nothing felt real. His pen hung loosely in his fingers until it rolled away, landing softly against the floor.
"Luca."
He looked up to see Bianca standing in the doorway, her posture graceful, her voice almost cautious. "Your mother says you haven't been sleeping."
"I'm fine," he murmured.
She stepped closer, studying him. "You don't look fine."
Luca managed a faint smile. "Neither do you."
That silenced her. For a fleeting second, something human flickered behind her perfect composure — exhaustion, maybe even regret. But then it was gone, replaced by the same polished calm she always wore in public.
"The gala is tomorrow night," she said finally. "Father expects you to be ready."
"I'll be there."
"Good." She hesitated, her hand resting lightly on the doorframe. "Whatever this is between us, Luca... we both have roles to play. Let's at least pretend we chose them."
He didn't answer. And when she left, the silence felt heavier than before.
Across town, Aria stood before her mirror, pinning her hair into place. The faint hum of her mother's voice drifted from the hall — instructions, reminders, expectations.
The Carsons had invited her again, this time to accompany them to the Dantes' gala. A chance to be seen, her mother had called it.
She tried to tell herself it didn't matter. That it was just another night, another crowd. But as she fastened the last pin, her reflection blurred. Her pulse quickened — not from excitement, but from a quiet, inexplicable dread.
She hadn't seen Luca since that night — the night everything broke.
And yet, as the car rolled through the city's glowing streets, she couldn't shake the feeling that their paths were moving toward each other again, slowly but inevitably.
The gala shimmered like a dream — chandeliers casting light across marble floors, laughter echoing off gold-trimmed walls. Everyone who mattered was there, wrapped in elegance and pretense.
Luca stood near the balcony, drink untouched in his hand. People came and went, offering congratulations, shallow smiles, empty words.
And then —
he saw her.
Aria Bellemy.
The crowd blurred instantly. She was across the room, standing beside James Carson, her gown pale silver that caught the light like water. Her eyes met his for a fraction of a second — long enough for the world to stop breathing.
Neither smiled. Neither looked away.
It was just one glance — but it carried everything they'd never said, everything they'd lost, everything that still burned between them.
Bianca's voice pulled him back. "Luca?"
He blinked. "Yes?"
"I asked if you're alright."
He forced a faint nod. "Perfectly."
But his heart was no longer his own.
Later, as the orchestra played a soft waltz, Aria slipped out onto the terrace to catch her breath. The air was cool, the city lights stretching endlessly below.
She closed her eyes.
Footsteps approached behind her — slow, familiar, careful.
"Aria."
Her breath caught.
She turned — and there he was.
Luca.
No mask. No cameras. Just him.
For a moment, neither spoke. The silence between them was louder than any words.
Finally, he said softly, "I didn't think you'd come."
Her voice trembled. "Neither did I."
The night held its breath as the two stood beneath the same sky once more — broken, beautiful, and still bound by what the city tried to erase.
And somewhere inside, both knew — this wasn't over.