Claimed by Mistake

The Grand Meridian Hall glittered like it knew exactly how much money was standing beneath its chandeliers. Grey Company had just been crowned Company of the Year again, unprecedented for a company that had clawed its way from sixth place to first in less than a decade and half the city's elite had turned out to be seen applauding it. Bella tugged at the hem of the dress Elena had all but forced her into, feeling every inch the imposter standing under ceilings that probably cost more than she'd earn in ten years scrubbing them. "Stop pulling at it," Elena said without even looking, handing her a champagne flute. "You look incredible. Breathe. You're allowed to have fun tonight." "I clean this building for a living, Elena. I'm not exactly dressed for the guest list." "You're my best friend at a party full of people who wish they had your face." Elena grinned and tugged her deeper into the group, Camilla mid story about a client meeting gone sideways, Jasmine laughing too hard to breathe, James failing spectacularly to flag down a waiter carrying actual food instead of appetizers the size of a fingernail. Bella laughed despite herself. This, at least, felt real. Only Ryder wasn't laughing. He stood at the edge of their circle, drink untouched, eyes sliding toward Bella and away again, over and over, a habit he seemed unable to break tonight. "You okay?" she asked, catching him at it. "Fine." Too fast. He looked away. Across the hall, Alexander Grey was giving a masterclass in looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. "I hate these things," he muttered. "You hate everything that isn't a spreadsheet," Leo said, unbothered, nursing a drink with the calm patience that had made him Alex's closest friend since they were boys. Leo had always been the quiet one of the group, the one who noticed things before anyone said them out loud, who could read a room from across it and knew exactly when to speak and when to simply stand beside someone in silence. Tonight he was doing the latter. "Lighten up, both of you." Killian appeared with two women already trailing him like he'd collected them on the way in, a drink in each hand, grinning the easy grin of a man who'd never once in his life worried about consequences. "It's a party. You remember what those are, right, Alex?" "Barely," Aiden added, sliding in on Killian's other side with a drink of his own and an identical lack of shame, already scanning the room for whoever might be worth talking to next. If Killian was reckless charm, Aiden was reckless charm's slightly more calculating cousin equally allergic to commitment, equally likely to end the night with a phone number he wouldn't remember collecting. "Some of us have companies to run," Alex said, flat. "Some of us also have hearts," Killian shot back, unbothered. "You should try growing one." It wasn't cruel not from Killian, not really from any of them. They'd grown up together, the four of them, sons of men who'd built the top five companies in the country, and long ago they'd learned exactly how far they could push Alex before the cold in his eyes turned into something colder. Leo never pushed. Killian and Aiden pushed constantly, mostly because they could, and because underneath it all they loved him too much to treat him like glass. And their fans back at highschool had a name for the four of them, had for years — The Golden Four, a title giving to them when it became obvious that between the money, the bloodlines, and the faces, none of them were ever going to be ordinary. Leo was the kind of handsome that crept up on people rather than announcing itself, dark chestnut hair always slightly overgrown, like he couldn't be bothered to sit still long enough for a haircut, soft brown eyes that missed nothing, and a quiet, easy warmth to his features that made strangers trust him within minutes of meeting him. He was tall, lean, understated in the way he dressed and carried himself, and somehow that only made him more magnetic, the kind of face that looked even better in person than in any photograph, because photographs couldn't capture the calm certainty behind his eyes. Killian was built like trouble and knew it. Golden tan skin, a jaw that could cut glass, dark tousled hair he ran his hands through constantly, and a wicked, crooked smile that had gotten him out of more consequences than his family's name ever had to. He had the kind of confidence that filled a room before he even opened his mouth, broad shoulders that filled out a suit like it had been poured onto him, and a habit of holding eye contact just a second too long, like he already knew exactly what effect he was having. Aiden was quieter about it, but no less devastating, sharp cheekbones, ash blond hair, ice blue eyes that missed nothing and gave away even less, and the kind of lean, coiled build that suggested he moved through life exactly as calculated as he moved through conversation. Where Killian charmed loudly, Aiden did it in a murmur, a raised eyebrow, a slow half smile that made people lean in without meaning to. And then there was Alex. If Leo was quietly handsome, Killian was loudly handsome, and Aiden was dangerously handsome, Alex was something else entirely, the kind of face people forgot how to describe properly the first time they saw it, because looking at him too long made most people lose their train of thought. Golden brown hair, always perfectly kept, framed a face carved with the kind of sharp, symmetrical precision that looked almost unfair next to everyone else in the room. But it was his eyes that people remembered — a rare, striking green, clear and unflinching, the kind of eyes that could hold you in place from across a crowded hall without him even trying. Tall, broad shouldered, every line of his tailored suit sitting like it had been designed specifically for his frame which, more often than not, it had. He carried himself with a stillness the other three didn't have, an unbothered, almost bored elegance that only made him more compelling to watch, like the coldness in him was a dare people kept accepting even when they knew better. Four faces the tabloids never got tired of photographing. Four fortunes the business world never got tired of watching. And out of all of them, everyone quietly, universally agreed that Alexander Grey was the most beautiful thing to ever walk into a room, and the coldest. As if summoned by the mention of hearts, Emily Grey appeared at her son's elbow, resplendent in emerald silk, Morgana Smith trailing just behind her wearing the smile of a woman with a plan already in motion. Emily was, by any measure, a striking woman, the kind of beauty that had clearly only sharpened with age rather than faded from it. Silver blonde hair swept back in an effortless twist, skin still smooth and luminous under the chandelier light, cheekbones as sharp as the son she'd raised, and pale green eyes so close to Alex's own that strangers sometimes did a double take realizing where his had come from. She moved through the room the way money and decades of practice taught a person to move unhurried, commanding, drawing eyes without ever seeming to try. It wasn't hard to see, looking at her, exactly which parent Alex had inherited his face from. "Alexander. You came." Emily kissed his cheek, eyes bright with something more calculated than affection. "I was beginning to think Killian would have to drag you here." "He tried," Alex said dryly. "Well, you're here now, so enjoy yourself." The word enjoy came out less like a wish and more like an instruction. Emily caught Morgana's eye. Something unspoken passed between them. Moments later, a servant appeared with a drink balanced on a silver tray. "Compliments of the house, sir. In honor of tonight's award." Alex took it without a second thought. Why would he think twice.