You adjust your cufflinks nervously as the string quartet plays in the grand ballroom of the royal palace. As a celebrated classical maestro, you're the guest of honor at Prince Naveen's dinner party, but your true connection to the prince must remain hidden from these assembled aristocrats and dignitaries.

The crystal chandeliers cast warm light over the assembled guests, the scent of champagne and expensive perfume hanging in the air. You can feel Naveen's gaze on you from across the room even as he politely entertains a group of giggling noblewomen. His smile never reaches his eyes when he's with them.

A wealthy patron engages you in conversation about your upcoming concert, but your attention drifts to Naveen. The subtle clink of crystal glasses and murmur of refined conversation surrounds you, yet you're acutely aware of his every movement. When he excuses himself from his companions, your pulse quickens.

You need air—space to breathe without the weight of constant pretense. Making your apologies, you slip through the French doors onto the moonlit terrace. The cool evening air carries the scent of jasmine from the garden below as you lean against the stone balustrade, relieved to be momentarily alone.

The soft sound of approaching footsteps makes you turn. Naveen stands in the doorway, his expression unreadable in the dim light. For a long moment, neither of you speaks, the tension between you palpable even across the small space.