Part 1: The Night I Was Not Invited
When my friend Jacob told me to sneak into a billionaire’s private estate party with him, I genuinely thought he was joking. He said it while leaning over the partition of his cubicle at work that morning, whispering like he was offering me classified intel. He had this excited sparkle in his eyes and a printed invitation tucked halfway inside his jacket as if the paper itself might run away.
“Trust me, I know a guy who can sneak us in,” he had said. “Also, they never check the guest list after the first gate. Just smile. Look pretty.”
I should have said no. I should have asked more questions. I should have considered the possibility that sneaking into the home of one of the richest men in the city was a terrible idea.
Instead I stood outside what looked like the backside entrance of the mansion at ten thirty that night. The gate was tall and wrought iron with a single warm light glowing above it. Soft music drifted from somewhere beyond the trees, the kind that made everything feel luxurious even from a distance.
I tugged Jacob’s sleeve. “We are actually here. How exactly are we getting past this gate without getting caught.”
Jacob flashed me a grin that was entirely too confident for someone who was basically trespassing. “Relax. I told you. I have someone on the inside.”
“Someone,” I repeated. “As in a person who works here. Who will lose their job if we get caught.”
He waved that off as if it did not matter even a little. “He will not get caught. Neither will we. Trust me.”
A shadow moved near the gate. A tall man approached, dressed in black with a lanyard hanging from his pocket. He pushed his hair back and smiled when he saw Jacob.
“Martin,” Jacob said softly. “You are a lifesaver.”
Martin unlocked the smaller side gate with ease and stepped aside for us. “You owe me for this,” he told Jacob with a grin. “This party is insane. Half the people here look like they walked out of some fantasy. Just stick close to the poolside and act like you belong.”
Then he glanced at me, amused. “You must be Evan.”
I blinked. “You know my name.”
“Jacob talks a lot,” he said before ushering us inside. “Come on. If security asks, you are helping me restock the bar.”
We slipped in behind him. The path curved along the side of the villa until it opened into a vast pool deck. The place spread out in front of us like something designed for a film set. Wide stone tiles framed the water. Long glass walls stretched across the villa, glowing softly in warm inviting light.
The first thing I noticed was the light. Golden light spilled from every window, glimmering against the polished stone exterior as if the entire place had been dipped in honey. Even from back here the villa felt alive, like the walls were humming with secrets only the rich could afford to keep.
The building stretched wide in clean modern lines. Floor to ceiling windows reflected the curve of the pool and the soft glow of hidden garden lights. Sculptures dotted the edges of the patio, each one sleek and expensive looking. The fountain near the back caught the light and scattered it across the water like tiny sparks.
I slowed without meaning to, staring up at the house that looked less like a place people lived in and more like a modern palace pulled straight from a magazine.
Jacob tugged my sleeve. “Do not stare,” he whispered.
Too late. I was staring at everything.
We stepped out from the narrow path and straight into the poolside party. Warm golden lights shimmered across the water, catching the edges of glass tiles that made the entire pool glow from within. Dozens of men were gathered here, some stretched out on loungers with shirts open, others standing near the bar with easy perfect confidence. A few walked around shirtless, chests sculpted, skin catching the warm light like a soft invitation.
Even the air smelled expensive. Warm notes of amber mixed with something darker and tempting.
Jacob looked thrilled. “This is unreal,” he whispered before patting my shoulder. “I am going in the pool. Go enjoy yourself. Look around. Act natural.”
Then he vanished into the crowd.
I stood there for a moment, overwhelmed. The villa loomed behind the pool with tall glass walls that opened into the living room. Through them I could see more guests, more beautiful faces, more bodies that looked carved from marble. The music floated between inside and outside, smooth and low, giving the entire place a hypnotic rhythm.
I swallowed and started moving with the crowd. People brushed past in slow deliberate steps, some smiling as if they assumed I belonged. Some paused to glance at me again, eyes flicking over me in a way that made my stomach tighten.
I drifted toward the open glass doors that led inside.
The living room was even more stunning. The space opened up in warm neutral tones, textured walls, modern art pieces hung with perfect precision, and ambient lights that created soft shadows across the marble floors. Velvet couches framed the room. Crystal glasses caught the glow and threw it back in tiny sparkles.
It felt unreal. Like stepping into a dream where every detail had been designed to seduce the eye.
A shirtless server walked by with a tray of drinks, and before I could refuse he pressed a crystal glass into my hand. I clutched it, unsure what to do with it, unsure if drinking something here would get me in trouble or make me seem even more like an outsider.
Jacob had completely disappeared. Typical.
I stood near a tall abstract sculpture and tried not to look like I was afraid to touch anything. My eyes kept darting everywhere. Every corner felt curated with intention. Something about the space made me feel like I was being watched even when I knew I was not.
Massive windows looked out onto the pool and gardens. From inside, the water looked black with soft gold lines skimming the surface. A group of men stood near the edge, laughing quietly, their open shirts moving with the breeze. The scene felt so intimate that I almost felt rude watching them.
I breathed out slowly and kept walking. My curiosity pushed me deeper into the house. I felt small, insignificant, and yet drawn further in as if the mansion wanted me to wander.
There were two grand staircases that curved along the edges of the main hall. Lights were hidden beneath each marble step, giving the stairs a soft ethereal glow. The second floor was dark in some places and warmly lit in others. It felt private. Forbidden. Calling to me in a quiet whisper I could not ignore.
I told myself I was just exploring. Just looking. No one would notice one more person in a party this large.
But as I stepped toward the stairs, my heartbeat picked up.
I should have stayed where the crowd was.
Instead I followed the pull of curiosity. The desire to see more. The part of me that always wanted what I was not supposed to touch.
And my feet carried me upward before my mind could stop me.
My heart thudded as I reached the next level. It was quieter here. Too quiet. The music faded into a murmur, and the laughter from below drifted up softly.
The corridor was long and elegant with tall doors on either side. A long runner carpet stretched across the floor, deep blue with intricate gold patterns that caught the light. Modern art pieces hung evenly spaced, each one illuminated by a tiny warm spotlight.
I knew I should go back. I knew wandering upstairs in a billionaire’s mansion was stupid.
But one partially open door caught my eye.
Warm light spilled from the crack. Something about the glow pulled me forward. I hesitated at the doorway, listening.
Nothing. Just the soft hum of air and the faintest hint of music echoing from downstairs.
I pushed the door open wider.
The room was a private study. A breathtaking one. The kind of space that felt designed for someone powerful. The walls were lined with tall shelves filled with carefully arranged books and objets d’art. A large desk stood in the center, made of dark polished wood that reflected the golden sconces on the walls. A sleek black pen sat on top of a leather notebook. Everything was positioned with intention.
A floor to ceiling window dominated the far wall. Beyond it the garden stretched in perfect symmetry, glowing with low warm lights. The moon sat low in the sky, illuminating the pool in silver.
My breath caught.
This room felt intimate. Not in a romantic way. In a personal way. As if stepping inside meant crossing a boundary I was not supposed to cross. I felt the weight of something important lingering in the air.
Still, I stepped inside.
Something in me wanted to see how someone like this billionaire lived. What he valued. What his private space said about him.
I stepped deeper into the study, the soft rug muffling my footsteps. The room felt warmer than the rest of the house, like it held someone’s presence even when empty. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books arranged with deliberate precision. A few objects sat displayed under warm lights. A vintage watch. A small sculpture in black stone. A framed photograph.
I moved toward it, drawn in without thinking. The man in the picture stood in a tailored suit beside two older men at what looked like a charity gala. His expression was calm, almost stern, but the confidence in his posture made him impossible to look away from. Strong jaw. Sharp eyes. A presence that commanded the entire frame.
I leaned closer, studying the face that everyone in the city whispered about.
Sebastian Blackwell.
The host of the night. The billionaire whose name lived in headlines and speculation. Cold. Brilliant. Untouchable. Effortlessly Hot.
I stepped back from the photograph, suddenly aware of every line I might be crossing. I moved further into the room as if distance from the shelf would somehow make my intrusion less real. A long leather sofa sat near the center, facing a low table with a book left open. I sank onto the edge of the cushion, trying to steady my breathing. My fingers brushed the smooth surface of the armrest. I should leave. I knew that. I should go back downstairs and pretend I never stepped foot in here.
I glanced around once more before standing.
That was when I heard it.
A single breath behind me. Slow. Controlled. Close enough to stir the air along my neck.
Not a laugh. Not a warning. A sound that made every hair on my arms lift.
I froze.
My heart pounded so hard I felt it in my throat. I turned slowly, my entire body moving as if through water, already knowing before my eyes reached the doorway that someone was there.
And he was.
A man stood just inside the study. Tall. Broad shouldered. The dark suit he wore fit him so perfectly it shaped itself to his body. His tie was loose, undone enough to show the sharp line of his collarbone beneath the shirt. The light from the hallway framed him in a soft, golden outline.
He did not speak. He did not move. He only looked at me with a calm that felt too controlled to be harmless.
His features were striking, almost unreal in their symmetry, but it was the steadiness in his eyes that held me. That quiet power. The way he took me in without a blink.
The man from the photograph.
The man who owned the house.
The man catching me exactly where I should never have been.
Sebastian Blackwell.
His eyes swept over me once. A slow deliberate movement that made my skin heat.
I felt very small. And very exposed.
He took a single step forward.
I swallowed, my hands tightening at my sides.
He said nothing at first. He just observed me with a quiet intensity that made my pulse trip over itself. Then, in a voice that felt smooth and low enough to settle under my ribs, he spoke.
“You are not supposed to be here.”
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