I watched Julian Harrington stroll back into the crowd, his movements deliberate and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. I should have followed him, demanded to know why he'd sought me out. But I didn't. My feet stayed rooted to the marble floor, my pulse racing for reasons I couldn't explain.
The Harrington family. Of all the people in this room, why did it have to be him? Why did he seem so unbothered by who I was, by the consequences of even speaking to me? It was reckless, arrogant, and completely on-brand for a Harrington.
And yet, I couldn't ignore the fact that it felt good—better than it should have—to be seen as just Amelia, not as my father's puppet.
"Amelia, where have you gone off to?" My mother's voice jolted me back to reality. She appeared at my side, her pearl necklace gleaming under the ballroom lights, her sharp gaze assessing me as if I were one of her many social projects.
"I wasn't anywhere," I said, adjusting the strap of my dress. "Just... getting some air."
She gave me a look that suggested she didn't believe me for a second but decided not to press further. "Your father's looking for you. The Van der Merks were impressed, but we still need to make an appearance at the other end of the room. Come now, darling. Let's not keep them waiting."
And just like that, I was swept back into the rhythm of the evening, smiling at strangers and nodding politely as my parents made introductions and connections I had no interest in maintaining. The weight of my family name hung heavy on my shoulders, but tonight, it felt even heavier than usual. Because no matter how hard I tried to focus, my mind kept wandering back to Julian Harrington.
---
The party dragged on for what felt like hours. By the time we were finally able to leave, my cheeks hurt from smiling, and my head throbbed from the endless chatter.
The drive home was quiet, save for my father's occasional grumbles about business deals and my mother's half-hearted attempts to console him. I stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past, my thoughts still tangled in the brief conversation I'd had with Julian.
He was trouble. I knew that much. But there was something else, something I couldn't quite put my finger on. He wasn't like the other men I'd met at these events—men who only cared about my last name and what it could do for them. Julian had looked at me like I was someone worth knowing. Not Amelia Sinclair, the heiress. Just Amelia.
It was unsettling. And intriguing.
---
The next morning, I woke to the sound of my phone buzzing incessantly on my nightstand. Groaning, I reached for it, squinting at the bright screen.
Unknown Number.
Frowning, I answered. "Hello?"
"Good morning, Miss Sinclair." The voice on the other end was smooth, familiar. My heart skipped a beat.
"Julian?" I sat up in bed, my pulse quickening.
"Didn't think I'd call, did you?" he said, a hint of amusement in his tone.
"How did you even get my number?" I demanded, my voice sharper than I intended.
"I have my ways," he said, completely unfazed. "But don't worry, I'm not here to make your life difficult. I just wanted to... apologize for last night."
"Apologize?" I repeated, confused. "For what?"
"For catching you off guard," he said. "I imagine I'm the last person you expected to meet at a Sinclair event."
"You're not wrong," I said, crossing my arms. "But I don't understand why you're apologizing. If anything, I should be the one apologizing for being rude."
"You weren't rude," he said simply. "You were honest. And that's rare in our world, isn't it?"
I didn't know how to respond to that, so I stayed silent.
"Listen," he continued, his tone shifting. "I know this is probably... unusual, but I was wondering if you'd like to meet. Just to talk."
"To talk?" I echoed, skeptical.
"Yes," he said. "No strings attached. No business deals. Just two people having a conversation. What do you say?"
Every instinct in my body screamed that this was a bad idea. My parents would lose their minds if they found out. The Sinclair-Harrington rivalry was practically a legacy of its own, and any association with Julian could be seen as a betrayal.
But another part of me—the part that was tired of being told what to do, who to be—wanted to say yes.
"Amelia?" Julian's voice pulled me from my thoughts.
I took a deep breath, my heart pounding. "Where?"
---
We met at a small café tucked away on a quiet street in the city. It was the kind of place where no one would think to look for me, which I assumed was exactly why Julian had chosen it.
He was already there when I arrived, sitting at a corner table with a cup of coffee in front of him. He looked up as I approached, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp and focused.
"Amelia," he said, standing as I reached the table. "I'm glad you came."
"I'm not sure why I did," I admitted, taking a seat across from him.
"Because you're curious," he said, his lips curving into a faint smile. "And maybe because you're tired of playing by the rules."
I stared at him, unsure whether to be annoyed or impressed by how easily he seemed to read me. "What do you want, Julian?"
"Like I said, just a conversation," he replied, leaning back in his chair. "I'm not here to cause trouble, Amelia. I'm just... interested in you."
"Why?" I asked, my voice softer than I intended.
"Because you're not like them," he said, gesturing vaguely. "You're different. And I think you know that."
His words struck a chord I didn't want to acknowledge. Because deep down, I knew he was right.
We talked for what felt like hours, our conversation shifting from light topics to deeper ones. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe, like I didn't have to perform or pretend.
By the time we parted ways, I knew one thing for certain: Julian Harrington was trouble. The kind of trouble that could upend everything I'd ever known.
But for the first time in my life, I wasn't sure if that was such a bad thing.