Elara
Orientation felt like boot camp for the glamorous.
A clipped voice barked rules like bullets fired in sequence:
“Smile at all times.”
“Discretion is mandatory.”
“Guests are priority. Always.”
I wrote every word in my head like a prayer, engraving them onto my bones because breaking them wasn’t an option. Break the rules, and I was gone. No paycheck. No rent. No meds for Jay.
The staff hall smelled like polished wood and pressure. Twenty of us stood in a neat line, listening to a woman with the sharpest bun I’d ever seen outline the holy commandments of The Azure. She didn’t need a microphone—her voice was a weapon. Every syllable sliced the air clean.
“You are the silent gears that keep this place running,” she said, pacing like a general before her troops. “If you’re doing your job well, you are invisible. Guests are gods. You are shadows.”
Shadows. Perfect. I’d been living as one for months already.
“Phones are for emergencies only. Eye contact—brief. Never initiate conversation. If a guest asks, you assist. No questions, no hesitation.”
Her gaze swept over us like a searchlight. When it landed on me, I fought the urge to flinch.
“Last rule,” she said, stopping dead center. “You do not—under any circumstances—get personal with guests. Not even if they offer the moon on a silver platter.”
Some of the newbies chuckled nervously. I didn’t. That rule was the one I highlighted in my mind in neon red.
No personal contact. No complications. No mistakes.
By the time I stumbled out of that hall two hours later, my feet ached in my thin flats, and my head spun with a million tiny commands that all screamed the same thing: don’t screw this up, Elara.
I should’ve gone straight to my assigned station. I should’ve.
But then—him.
Leaning against a column near the terrace like a scene ripped from a daydream. Scrolling through his phone with the kind of calm that comes from knowing the world bends for you. Jeans again. Plain black T-shirt—still no logo, no designer flash, just effortless simplicity that somehow screamed more than diamonds ever could.
But it wasn’t his clothes that made me stop. It was him.
The stillness. The quiet confidence radiating from him like heat waves off sunlit stone. Like the ocean before a storm—smooth, glittering, hiding something deadly underneath.
As if sensing my thoughts, his eyes lifted. Met mine.
And held.
My breath stuttered. For a heartbeat, the entire terrace vanished—the staff, the guests, the gilded edges of The Azure. It was just him, looking at me like I wasn’t invisible. Like I wasn’t just another shadow.
I looked away first, cheeks burning, heart doing that ridiculous flip I hated.
Get a grip, Elara. He’s probably a guest. Someone you’ll never speak to again. Someone you shouldn’t even want to speak to.
Except fate has a cruel sense of humor.
“Excuse me.”
The voice slid over my skin like velvet and steel all at once. Smooth, but with weight behind it.
I turned slowly, praying I didn’t look as startled as I felt.
“Do you work here?” he asked.
Up close, he was worse. Worse because distance had blurred the details—the sharpness of his jaw, the faint stubble shading it, the way his eyes weren’t just brown but layered, like amber and smoke and secrets.
I swallowed. “Uh… yeah. Kind of. Just started.”
His mouth curved—not quite a smile, something sharper. Like he was amused by something I didn’t get to know.
“Good to know,” he said softly.
Good to know? What the hell did that even mean?
Before I could ask, a voice sliced through the tension. Feminine. Polished. Calling a name I didn’t quite catch—but it wasn’t Adrian. At least, not then.
He turned toward the voice. A woman in diamonds stood by the terrace doors, smiling like she owned the sun.
And just like that, he was gone.
No explanation. No glance back. Just the echo of those three words burning in my mind.
Good to know.
I told myself I didn’t care. That he was a guest and I had rules to follow. That this was survival, not temptation.
I lied.
ns216.73.216.20da2
and then Add to home screen.