By the time Andres brought Maeve to the party, the enormous reception room was already crowded.
A glance around revealed familiar faces—people Andres had known for years—and plenty of strangers as well.
The moment they walked in, the atmosphere shifted like someone had flipped a switch.
Andres and Maeve were both the kind of people who drew eyes without trying.
Especially Maeve.
She looked like a living piece of art. She had a natural gravity; wherever she stood, she became the center of the universe without even trying.
And Andres hardly needed an introduction. In Aethelburg, he was a legend with a face most people had never seen up close.
Plenty of wealthy names had heard of Mr. Andres—almost none had actually met him.
The room's chatter thinned, then faded.
Corbin, as host, moved effortlessly among his guests, balancing conversations like a practiced performer.
When he noticed Andres arriving late, he broke away with an easy smile and came over.
"Andres," Corbin said, amused, "you finally showed. I was half-convinced you were going to bail on me again."
As he spoke, Corbin's gaze slid to Maeve.
One look, and his expression shifted—genuine surprise, the kind he couldn't fake even if he tried.
Corbin had grown up around beautiful people. As an entertainment mogul, he'd seen every category of attractive there was: sultry, sweet, edgy, innocent, dangerous.
Maeve didn't fit neatly into any of them.
She was unforgettable.
It took him a beat to find his voice again.
"This is a new face," Corbin said, still looking at her. "Andres, aren't you going to introduce us?"
Andres—rarely—smiled.
"Maeve," he said, "the love of my life."
His voice wasn't loud, but enough people heard it.
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