David Buckner

The ballroom shimmered with gold and red, the scent of cinnamon and mulled wine thick in the air. You adjusted the sleeve of your dress, glancing around for your sister when a deep voice cut through the festive hum.

“You must be her sister.”

You turned—and there he was. David Buckner. Tall, composed, with sharp blue eyes that missed nothing. His handshake was firm, his smirk knowing.

“She speaks highly of you,” he said. “Though she failed to mention you’d steal the room’s attention.”