Page 4 of Knotting on Heaven's Door

The champagne buzz had settled into something golden and lazy in my limbs, the kind of warm that made the music feel louder and the night feel softer around the edges. The upbeat tempo on the dance floor pulled at me like a tide, and for once, I didn’t fight it.

I glanced at the kitchen one more time. Plates were flawless. Staff in sync. Mila was watching everything like the commander she was. I could let go—for a few minutes.

So I did.

The song shifted into a pop remix I actually recognized, and I found myself stepping onto the dance floor just as the rhythm kicked up. People clapped to the beat, laughter rising around me. Someone slid in beside me, hips already moving.

“Ada!” Olivia grinned, already mid-spin. “I knew you couldn’t resist forever.”

“Sophie’s not the only one who knows how to drag me into trouble,” I shot back, falling into step beside her.

Olivia —Sophie’s older sister and full-blooded Zeta—movedlike the music lived inside her. She was all limbs and light and zero shame. I kept pace, the two of us syncing up to the rhythm as the whole crowd launched into a dance I half-remembered from social media.

Left, right, spin. Hip, clap. We nailed it. Together.

I laughed, breathless. My hair stuck to the back of my neck, but I didn’t care. For once, I didn’t feel like the woman always on the clock. I just felt like me.

When the beat dropped and the song ended, applause broke out. Olivia winked at me and twirled away into another group.

I turned toward my table, flushed and smiling, catching my breath.

A waiter passed with a tray of champagne flutes, and I reached for one—only for another hand to slide in and claim the same glass an instant before mine.

“Ah,” a deep, smooth voice said, amused. “Seems I was faster.”

I looked up.

He was tall, with shoulder-length ash-blond hair that looked like he’d run a hand through it on his way in and called it a day. His suit hung perfectly, tailored but unbothered—luxury without trying. And then there were his eyes—icy blue, sharp and bright, alive with a kind of reckless charm that caught the light and didn’t let go.

He moved with the lazy confidence of someone who knew exactly how much space he took up—and didn’t mind taking more.

“I was just about to take that,” I said, amused.

“I saw,” he replied, holding the flute up in mock toast. “But the universe gave me the edge.”

His accent curled slightly, smooth around the vowels. European, definitely. French, if I had to guess.

“You’re not from around here,” I said.

He gave a lazy shrug. “Paris, when I feel responsible. Geneva, when I don’t. I move around. I'm Sebastian, Karl’s cousin. And you are…?”

I tilted my head. “It’s far too early in the night to start exchanging names.”

His grin turned smug. “Mysterious.”

“Efficient.”

He glanced at the waiter, then stood a little straighter, his presence suddenly sharper.

“Another bottle of champagne,” he said, his voice silk and command all at once. “For the lady. Cold.”

“Yes, sir,” the waiter replied instantly before vanishing into the crowd.

Sebastian turned back to me, blue eyes dancing with something between amusement and intrigue. “If I don’t get your name, at least let me keep you company while we wait.”

I took a slow sip from the glass he almost stole and gave him the kind of smile that invited questions without offering answers.

“Let’s see if you’re interesting enough to earn it.”

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