The Grand Meridian Hotel's crystal chandeliers cast prismatic light across the charity gala's ballroom. Aiden adjusted his custom Tom Ford tuxedo, still marveling at how natural luxury had become in just weeks. Marcus stood beside him, scanning the crowd of Seattle's elite with obvious excitement.
"This is insane," Marcus whispered. "Six months ago, we were eating ramen for dinner four nights a week."
Aiden smiled, but his attention was drawn to a commotion near the silent auction tables. An elderly man clutched his chest, face contorting in pain as he collapsed. The crowd gasped and stepped back, uncertainty paralyzing them.
Then she moved.
A woman in an elegant emerald gown dropped her champagne flute and rushed forward with purposeful grace. She knelt beside the man, her dark hair falling forward as she pressed two fingers to his neck.
"Someone call 911!" Her accent was Italian, her voice commanding. "You—get the defibrillator from the wall. Now!"
Aiden found himself moving before conscious thought, retrieving the device and bringing it to her. Their eyes met briefly—hers were striking amber, intense with focus.
"Good. Open it."
She worked with practiced precision, her hands steady as she administered CPR. Within minutes, paramedics arrived, but she'd already stabilized the patient. As they wheeled him away, she stood, her dress somehow still immaculate despite kneeling on the floor.
"Dr. Isabella Romano," someone nearby murmured. "The cardiologist who developed that new valve replacement technique."
Aiden approached as the crowd dispersed. "That was incredible."
She turned to him, and he felt the full force of her presence. She was beautiful, yes, but it was the intelligence and passion in her eyes that captivated him.
"It was necessary," she said simply, then smiled slightly. "Though ruining a five-thousand-dollar dress was not ideal."
"Send me the bill," Aiden said. "I'm Aiden Schols."
Recognition flickered across her face. "Ah, the mysterious young investor everyone whispers about." She extended her hand. "Isabella."
Her grip was firm, confident. When their hands touched, Aiden felt an electric current he was beginning to recognize—the system-enhanced charisma was working, but there was something more, something genuine.
"You're not from Seattle originally," he observed.
"Florence. I came here three years ago for a fellowship and..." she paused, something guarded entering her expression, "stayed."
They talked for the rest of the evening. Isabella was brilliant, discussing everything from cardiac surgery to Italian Renaissance art with equal passion. Unlike many people who now gravitated toward Aiden because of his wealth, she seemed genuinely interested in ideas, in conversation itself.
"Why medicine?" Aiden asked as they stepped onto the hotel's terrace, seeking fresh air.
"Because the heart is the most honest organ," Isabella said, leaning against the railing. The city lights reflected in her eyes. "It cannot lie. When it fails, there are no excuses, no politics. Just life and death."
"That's beautiful."
"That's science." But she smiled. "Though perhaps beauty too."
As the gala ended, Aiden felt reluctant to say goodbye. Isabella seemed to feel the same, lingering as other guests departed.
"May I see you again?" he asked.
She studied him for a long moment. "Yes," she finally said. "But I should warn you, Mr. Schols—I'm not easily impressed by money."
"Good," Aiden replied, meaning it. "Neither am I anymore."
As he watched her leave, the system interface flickered briefly in his vision: New connection established. Compatibility rating: Exceptional.
For once, Aiden didn't need the system to tell him what he already felt.