She felt it in every polished marble step, every forced smile, every dismissive glance that skimmed past her like she was invisible—or worse, irrelevant. The air reeked of power and perfume, and neither welcomed her.
The Blackwell Foundation Charity Gala was exactly the kind of spectacle she despised—wealth on parade, gilded and hollow. A place where billionaires could toss money at glossy causes they'd forget by morning. Her nonprofit, Hart to Heart, had been invited as window dressing—one of a few grassroots organizations thrown in for flavor. Optics. Nothing more.
She hated every second of it. Even in the fancy setting, Layla felt alone. Her green satin dress and perfectly styled hair made her look great, but her tight grip on the sparkling water showed she was trying hard to keep it together in a place that felt shallow. All the party noise around her faded into the background. Then she spotted him. Across the room, past the sparkling chandeliers and fancy curtains, stood Adrian Blackwell.
He was stillness in a storm.
Tall. Impeccably dressed. Unapologetically composed. He didn't need to speak to dominate the room—he was the room. His gaze swept over the crowd like a predator choosing his next move. But when his eyes landed on her…
Layla's breath caught.
Their eyes locked. Just for a second—but it was enough to scorch.
He looked... surprised. Like she was a puzzle piece that didn't fit in this picture, and yet somehow made the whole thing make sense.
A tall blonde clung to his arm, trying too hard to pull his focus. He didn't flinch.
Then he started walking toward her.
But the spell shattered with a sharp voice slicing through the air.
"Adrian."
Elliot Blackwell's voice carried the kind of authority that made people step aside. Polished menace in human form. Adrian paused, jaw tightening.
"Your presence is needed with the board. Now."
Adrian gave a clipped nod. "Almost there," a voice said. Elliot looked over at Layla, sizing her up. "And who might you be?" Layla was about to answer, but Adrian jumped in. "Someone who doesn't need your approval." A tense silence filled the air. Elliot kept a fake smile on his face. "Lovely." Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving behind a heavy silence. Layla exhaled. "Wow. That was... intense."
Adrian watched his father vanish. "That was polite. You should see him when he's trying."
She tilted her head. "Do you always defy him in public?"
"Not usually." His eyes cut back to her. "You must be a bad influence."
She laughed, despite herself. Something shifted in his posture—softer, curious. His voice had a deep tone that caught attention. 'I'm Adrian.' Layla smiled, a little knowing look in her eyes. 'I know. I'm Layla.'
Layla Hart."
The moment the name left her lips, everything stilled.
His expression changed—barely, but enough. A flicker of something unreadable.
"What was your last name?" he asked again, quietly.
She frowned. "Hart."
A pause.
He opened his mouth, then shut it.
Then came a smile—easy, practiced. Too easy. "Nice to meet you, Layla Hart."
But something had shifted. She felt it like a drop in temperature. A warning bell in her chest.
You look like you just saw a ghost, she said that and laughed. Adrian squinted, clearly thinking it over. "No. Just… the name sounds familiar. There was a Hart in finance, years ago. Rings a bell."
She forced a laugh. "It's a common name."
But inside, she felt like her ribs were closing in. He can't know. He can't possibly know.
Her father's past wasn't just a skeleton in the closet—it was a minefield. And Adrian Blackwell was the last person who should ever know she was Thomas Hart's daughter.
Adrian didn't press. But something in him had gone quiet. Like he was filing the moment away, placing it delicately into a mental folder labeled: Unknown Threat.
Then he said, voice low and smooth, "I'm not great with people. But if I had to endure this evening with anyone... Yes, I understand what you're saying right. It sounds more better if you're the one doing it. Layla smiled knowingly, So, just a sly compliment, wrapped in your usual charm?
"Something like that."
She hesitated. Then gave in.
"Alright, Adrian Blackwell. Surprise me."
He gestured toward the edge of the ballroom. "There's a balcony. Less noise. Fewer wolves."
She followed him, her heart thudding in a confusing mix of warning and thrill.
Outside, the night was soft. City lights sprawled beneath them like glittering secrets. The night air was refreshing,she felt a big change from her nerves . Next to her, Adrian stood against the city lights. Finally breaking the silence, he said straight up, Honestly, I'd rather be anywhere else right now.
"Then why are you?"
He turned toward her. "My father. Optics. Duty. You know—the usual golden shackles."
Layla tilted her head. "And are you as trapped as you sound?"
He smiled—just a little. "Sometimes I feel like I was born in a cage... with velvet walls."
She looked away, eyes glimmering. "I know a thing or two about cages. Though mine came with iron bars and no view."
Adrian studied her, the air between them growing charged.
"You're different."
She swallowed. "Is that your best line?"
He didn't answer. Just looked at her like she was the first real thing he'd seen all night.
Layla turned to the railing, voice almost a whisper. "Sometimes I wonder if I should just disappear. Walk away. Start over."
Instead of answering right away, she looked into his eyes, and the quiet made her heart race. "Because I have this stupid feeling you'd come after me."
His smile was slow. Dangerous.
"I would."
And that terrified her more than anything—because she didn't know who would survive if he did.
---
Adrian couldn't sleep.
The city sprawled beneath his penthouse window, glittering and restless. It was past 2 AM, but he was wired. Hollow. Pacing.
Layla Hart.
Her name looped in his mind like a haunting refrain.
He couldn't shake her. Not her smile, not her fire. And definitely not the way she'd said her name—Hart—like it meant nothing. Like it wasn't a loaded weapon pointed right at the Blackwell family legacy.
But it was.
Thomas Hart. The man who'd almost taken them down. Blacklisted. Disgraced. Gone.
And now... his daughter was here?
Adrian didn't believe in coincidence. Not in his world.
He rubbed a hand over his face. He wanted to believe her presence was innocent. As he thought more about her, it hit him—Layla Hart was more than just a pretty face.
Hart wasn't just another pretty face. She was something else.
A question he didn't know how to answer.
His phone buzzed.
Blocked number.
One message.
> Be careful who you get close to. The sins of the father never stay buried.
Adrian's blood ran cold.
No name. No context.
But he knew.
This wasn't a beginning. This was a warning.
And it was already too late.