Raven expertly maneuvered through the buzzing room, balancing a tray of champagne flutes with practiced ease. Her sharp eyes scanned for her next stop, weaving past clusters of guests laughing and chatting in their evening finery. She caught snippets of conversation—business deals, gossip, and polite flattery—but it all blurred together, unimportant compared to the task at hand.
Then it happened.
A solid shoulder brushed hers, and the tray wobbled precariously, the glasses clinking in a chaotic melody. Raven's heart skipped as she clenched her fists around the tray to stabilize it, a bead of sweat forming at her temple.
"Watch where you're going!" she snapped, her voice cutting through the polished atmosphere like a knife.
The culprit—a tall man with a perfectly tailored suit and an air of effortless arrogance—turned toward her. His piercing blue eyes locked onto hers, surprise flickering across his face before it was replaced with irritation.
"Apologies," he said, his tone low and detached, as though the words were a mere formality.
Raven's sharp gaze bore into him, her lips curling into a faint sneer. "You'd think someone dressed like you would know how to act in public," she bit out, her voice laced with sarcasm.
Something shifted in his expression—mild amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Duly noted," he said, his voice smooth but edged with condescension. His gaze swept over her, unhurried, assessing.
"Save the charm," Raven muttered, brushing past him with a deliberate shove of her shoulder. She didn't miss the slight raise of his eyebrow, the flicker of surprise he quickly masked.
Gilbert watched her retreat, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. Her fiery retort lingered in his mind, unusual and refreshing amidst the dull politeness of the evening. For a moment, he stood still, replaying her words. The fire in her eyes was unlike anything he'd seen in this world of tailored smiles and perfect composure.
Across the room, Raven exhaled sharply, muttering to herself as she set the tray on a nearby table. "Who does he think he is?" she grumbled under her breath, the memory of his smirk igniting fresh irritation. Her fingers tightened on the tray, but she forced herself to let go, shaking her head.
She glanced up, catching Gilbert's piercing gaze across the room. He was watching her, a quiet intensity in his expression that made her skin prickle. She quickly averted her eyes, heat rising to her cheeks, though she refused to admit why.
For Gilbert, the rest of the night blurred into background noise. The brief collision with the fiery waitress replayed in his mind like a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. He absently sipped his drink, his gaze wandering back to her whenever she crossed his line of sight.
"Who was that?" he murmured to himself, curiosity mingling with intrigue. He didn't know her name, but he was certain of one thing—this wasn't the last time their paths would cross.
From a corner of the room, Damon nudged Alexander, gesturing subtly toward Gilbert. "You see that?"
Alexander followed his gaze and smirked knowingly. "Something tells me he just met his match."
The air buzzed with possibility, a thread of connection pulling tighter between two people who had no idea what lay ahead. But even as the night carried on, one thing was clear—Gilbert and Raven were far from finished with each other.
In the shadows of the glittering evening, something had shifted. A chance collision had sparked a flame, faint but undeniable. And neither of them would walk away unchanged.
Xavier stood against the wall, his posture leaning casually as his eyes scanned the room with a hint of boredom. He wasn't expecting much tonight—just the usual crowd. But then she appeared.
"Xavier, right?" The voice pierced the quiet hum of conversation, and he looked up, already knowing what was about to happen.
He gave a small, knowing smirk. "Yeah, that's me," he said, his tone flat and uninterested.
"I'm Mrs. Greenhood," she said, her voice way too sweet for someone who was clearly about to make a scene. "And this is my daughter, Janelle. She's your age. I'm sure you two will get along great."
Xavier turned his eyes to Janelle, taking her in with a quick, appraising glance. She was pretty, no doubt about it, but that didn't really impress him. He wasn't the type to fall for a pretty face. His handshake was firm, but his gaze was distant, almost dismissive.
"Yeah, whatever," he muttered as their hands met.
Mrs. Greenhood, too eager to notice the tension in the air, patted Xavier on the arm with a little too much enthusiasm. "Why don't you two catch up while I talk to the other parents?" she suggested, turning away before either of them could respond.
As soon as Mrs. Greenhood disappeared into the crowd, Xavier leaned back against the wall, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. His eyes never left Janelle as he took another slow sip of his drink. "So?"
Janelle, clearly flustered but determined to play her part, grinned, her voice rising in an almost flirtatious tone. "Hi, Xavier! I've heard so much about you. You're even more handsome in person," she said, batting her lashes.
Xavier didn't even flinch. His eyes darkened slightly as he took in her words, but the smirk on his lips never wavered. "Yeah? Well, I wish I could say the same about you," he drawled, his tone thick with disinterest.
Janelle blinked, clearly taken aback. She wasn't expecting that. "Excuse me?" Her voice came out sharp, but it trembled with uncertainty.
Xavier straightened, his body language oozing casual confidence, but his words hit with a biting edge. "I mean, what exactly are you trying to do here?" His eyes flickered over her with a cold, calculating look. "Your mom's playing matchmaker, and you're already throwing yourself at me. What's your angle, huh?"
Janelle opened her mouth to respond, but the words didn't come right away. She fumbled for something to say, but Xavier didn't give her the chance.
"You know, it's funny," he continued, voice dropping to a near whisper, but there was nothing friendly in it. "Your mom thinks I'm some kind of prize, but let's be honest—I'm not the type of guy you want to be chasing. So why don't you just take the hint and stop embarrassing yourself?"
Janelle's face flushed with a mix of anger and humiliation, but Xavier just kept looking at her with that indifferent, almost mocking stare.
Her hands clenched, her fingers curling tightly around her drink. "I'm not playing any games!" she snapped, her voice strained.
Xavier let out a low chuckle, but it was more like a growl. "Yeah, sure. You're not the first girl to try something like this. And I'm not some little puppy you can sweet-talk. So if you're smart, you'll cut the act and save yourself the trouble."
Janelle's eyes widened, a wave of realization crashing over her. She stumbled backward a step, her face crumpling with hurt, but it didn't stop her. The tears stung at the back of her eyes, but she blinked them away before she turned and fled from him, running back into the crowd.
Xavier watched her go, his gaze never softening. He didn't feel bad. In fact, a small part of him almost enjoyed it—the way she fell apart so easily, the way people always underestimated him. He was the last guy to fall for the nice guy act.
He scoffed and took another long swig of his drink, leaning back against the wall again. His lips twisted into a half-smile, but there was nothing warm about it. "Stupid girl," he muttered under his breath. "Don't try to make me your project."
And with that, he disappeared into the crowd, his bad boy aura trailing in his wake.