THE LAST SHOOTING STAR

"Irene, we've talked about this."

Her father's voice was calm...too calm. The kind of calm that came before an argument he knew he was about to win.

Irene didn't bother looking up from her coffee. She knew exactly where this was going.

"Irene, darling," her mother tried instead, using that soft, pleading tone that usually made people bend to her will. "It's just one ball. You'll go, meet people, have fun"

"I don't do fun," Irene cut in, stirring her coffee lazily.

Her father pinched the bridge of his nose, already losing patience. "It's one night, Irene. A few hours at most. Just show your face, be polite, dance at least once."

"No."

Her mother gasped. "No?" as if the concept was foreign to her.

"You heard me," Irene said, bored.

Her father exhaled sharply. "Irene, you can't spend your life locked away in this house."

"Why not?" she asked, tilting her head. “I like it here. It's quiet. Peaceful. No one forcing me to waste time at ridiculous events where people pretend to like each other."

Her mother flinched. "It's not ridiculous. It's socializing. Something you should do more of."

Irene laughed under her breath. Socializing? What for?

Her mother straightened her shoulders, pressing on. "This is important, Irene. Not just for us, but for you. You're still young. You should be enjoying your life"

"Enjoying it how, Mother? By pretending I have all the time in the world?" Irene's voice was colder now. "By pretending I can afford to fall in love like everyone else, only to die and leave them in misery?"

Silence.

For a moment, just a moment, she thought she had finally shut them up.

And then

Her mother's voice cracked.

"I just... I just want to see you happy, Irene."

Irene froze.

Her mother reached for a napkin, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. Tears.

Of course.

Her father sighed, his tone suddenly softer. "Your mother is worried sick about you. We both are."

"Worried about what, exactly?" Irene's jaw tightened. "That I won't find love? That I'll die a virgin? That I don't enjoy overpriced champagne and meaningless small talk?"

Her mother's face crumbled. "Irene!"

But the damage was done. Her mother fully broke down, covering her face with shaky hands.

And that was it.

That was the final blow.

Because Irene could handle a lot of things. She could handle pain, she could handle loneliness, she could handle death staring her in the face.

But she could not handle seeing them cry because of her.

"Fine," she muttered.

Her mother's head snapped up. "What?"

"I'll go.

A wide smile broke through her mother's tears. "Really?"

"One night," Irene warned. "That's it."

Her father exhaled in relief. "That's all we ask."

No.

That's all they were forcing.

AT THE BALL

The golden chandeliers dripped with elegance, casting a warm glow over the sea of perfectly dressed elites. The hum of polite conversation mixed with the soft melody of a string quartet. Everything about the night screamed luxury, perfection, and romance three things Irene had no interest in.

She stood at the edge of the ballroom, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold like an outsider. The air was filled with laughter and forced pleasantries. The wealthy gathered in clusters, sipping champagne, flashing perfect smiles, whispering secrets behind jeweled hands.

"If you just opened up, you might find someone."

Her mother's voice echoed in her head.

What a joke.

Irene didn't need to find someone. She needed to make sure no one found her.

She had seen what love did. It latched onto people, made them feel alive, only to shatter them when it was ripped away. And she was going to be ripped away.

So she had built walls cold, unbreakable walls. She had pushed every suitor away, freezing them out until they left on their own.

And it had worked.

Until now.

"Irene?"

The voice was soft, familiar.

She turned, and for the first time that evening, her carefully built walls shifted.

It was her childhood friend, eyes wide with recognition. Standing beside her was a man Irene had never seen before.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Sharp-jawed. Dark, knowing eyes that didn't flicker away like the others.

Unlike everyone else in the room he wasn't looking away.

He didn't look away.

His gaze was steady, unwavering not the fleeting glances of the men Irene was used to, not the subtle admiration that crumbled under the weight of her indifference. No, this was different. It wasn't admiration. It wasn't curiosity. It was something else entirely.

Something calculating.

Something persistent.

But Irene was unbothered.

She didn't flinch. Didn't avert her gaze like a flustered debutante. Instead, she shifted her attention back to the only person here that mattered Rachael.

"You're staring," Irene pointed out, her tone flat.

Rachael blinked, then laughed. "And you're as blunt as ever." She gestured to the man beside her. "Irene, meet Ryan my brother."

Irene's eyes flickered with something unreadable.

"Brother?"

She had never heard Rachael mention a brother before.

As if reading the question in her expression, Rachael smirked. "Oh, don't look so surprised. You never cared to hear about men, remember? You hated when I brought them up, so I figured what was the point?"

Irene had no response to that.

She supposed Rachael wasn't wrong.

Back then, love, relationships, men none of it mattered to her. She had dismissed it all, pushed it away before it could become something significant.

She couldn't afford attachments.

And now?

Now, she had even more reasons to stay away.

Her fingers tightened slightly around her champagne glass.

"So, you finally decided to return to civilization," Rachael continued, voice light, but there was something careful in the way she said it. "I tried reaching out after we got into college, but you disappeared."

Irene exhaled softly. "I didn't disappear."

"You might as well have," Rachael countered. "No calls, no texts nothing. I thought you were avoiding me."

Irene glanced away.

Avoiding? No.

But keeping distance? Yes.

She hadn't told Rachael about the diagnosis. Hadn't told anyone.

The symptoms had started in her first year, and before she knew it, the world outside became distant noise. She had withdrawn, left campus, and taken her courses from home.

It was easier that way.

Easier to keep people from seeing her fall apart.

"Things...changed," Irene finally said, her voice quieter than before.

Rachael studied her, as if searching for the truth in her words.

Ryan, still silent, still watching, tilted his head slightly like he, too, was piecing something together.

Irene ignored it.

"So," she said, steering the conversation away. "You and your brother here for business or pleasure?"

Rachael raised a brow. "Neither. Family obligations."

"And you?" Ryan finally spoke, his voice deep, measured. Amused.

Irene's gaze flicked to him.

"Blackmail," she answered simply.

Rachael snorted. "Her parents forced her."

Ryan's lips curled slightly. "Ah."

He didn't press further.

Good.

Irene had no interest in small talk.

But even as she shifted the conversation back to Rachael, she could still feel Ryan's eyes on her.

Unmoving. Unshaken.

And for the first time in a long while she had the oddest feeling that someone wasn't going to leave.

Irene was used to men backing off.

The moment they sensed her indifference, the moment they realized she wasn't soft, charming, or inviting, they took a step back.

They always did.

Yet, Ryan didn't.

Even now, as the conversation drifted, as the night carried on with the clinking of glasses and the murmur of aristocratic gossip, he didn't leave.

He didn't stop watching her.

Not in an overbearing way. Not in a way that demanded attention.

But in a way that said I see you.

And that?

That was dangerous.

"Well," Irene finally exhaled, handing her empty glass to a passing waiter. "As much fun as this has been, I think I've played the obedient daughter enough for one night."

Rachael huffed. "You're leaving already?"

"Yes."

"It's barely been an hour!"

Irene shot her a pointed look. "And?"

Rachael rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."

Ryan chuckled. A low, rich sound.

Irene ignored it.

She turned on her heel, already heading toward the exit. She had played her role. She had done what her parents wanted. That was enough.

But just as she reached the grand entrance, a hand caught her wrist.

Firm. Warm. Unhesitating.

She stilled.

Slowly, she turned her gaze clashing with his.

Ryan.

The audacity.

She arched a brow. "Excuse me?"

His grip loosened but didn't fall away completely.

"One dance."

Irene blinked. Did he just?

"No." The refusal came instantly.

Ryan didn't look the least bit surprised. If anything, he looked... expectant.

"Afraid you'll enjoy it?" he murmured.

Her jaw tightened. "I just don't like wasting time."

"Neither do I."

Then let go.

The words were on the tip of her tongue, ready to be laced with ice. But before she could say them, Rachael's voice cut in.

"Oh, come on, Irene!" Rachael groaned dramatically. "It's just one dance. It won't kill you."

Irene shot her a sharp glare.

Rachael grinned. Traitor.

Ryan, still holding her gaze, lifted a brow challenging.

For a brief moment, the room faded. The music, the laughter, the glittering chandeliers...all of it dulled.

It was just him.

Him and his ridiculous persistence.

Irene could walk away.

She could pull her wrist free, step past him, and disappear into the night like she always did.

She should.

But for reasons she couldn't explain she didn't.

Her fingers twitched.

Her lips parted.

And before she could stop herself, the words slipped out.

"Fine."

Ryan's expression didn't shift.

No victorious smirk. No teasing remark.

Just a quiet, knowing nod as if he had already known she would say yes.

And somehow, that irritated her more than anything.

Because for the first time in a long while someone wasn't playing by her rules but will she give up? Of course no. She thought to herself.

Ryan wasn't surprised at first.

Irene agreeing to dance with him so easily didn't sit right, but he had let it slide. Maybe she was just different from what he expected. Maybe Rachael was exaggerating when she said Irene never let anyone in.

But then

She turned away.

"Excuse me," Irene said, her voice as indifferent as ever.

Ryan frowned slightly as she scanned the crowd, her eyes searching for something or someone.

"Irene?" Rachael called, confused.

Then Irene's gaze landed on a girl in a pastel pink dress standing near the edge of the dance floor. She was young, maybe in her early twenties, with an eager look in her eyes clearly waiting for someone to ask her to dance.

Irene strode toward her without hesitation.

Ryan and Rachael watched as Irene reached into her clutch, pulled out a few crisp bills, and pressed them into the girl's hand.

"Take my place," she said flatly.

The girl blinked. "What?"

"You heard me," Irene said, already stepping back. “Dance with him."

Ryan stiffened.

He had expected her to pull something maybe a sarcastic remark, maybe a cold rejection at the last second but this?

He hadn't expected this.

The girl stammered, looking between Irene and Ryan. "I...I...don't understand, I mean"

"You don't have to understand," Irene cut in smoothly. "Just take the money and dance."

Ryan let out a sharp breath, amusement flickering in his eyes.

Rachael, on the other hand, burst into laughter. She clutched her stomach, barely able to breathe. "Oh my God, I knew you'd pull something, but this? This is golden!"

Irene didn't even acknowledge her. She turned on her heel, walking away as if none of this concerned her.

The girl still stood there, awkwardly clutching the money. She peeked up at Ryan nervously. "Um... so should we?"

Ryan ignored her.

Instead, his gaze followed Irene's retreating figure.

He wasn't mad.

If anything he was intrigued.

No woman had ever discarded him like that before. They chased, they clung, they played coy but never this.

Rachael wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "Wow. I told you she was different."

Ryan's lips curled slightly. "Yeah."

His dark eyes never left Irene.

"You did."

Ryan watched as Irene disappeared into the crowd, unbothered, her posture carrying the same quiet arrogance as before.

His lips twitched.

Interesting.

"Ryan," Rachael nudged him, still chuckling, "that was brutal. She just tossed you aside like spare change."

Ryan rolled his shoulders, his gaze locked on her retreating form. "She thinks that was enough to get rid of me."

Rachael's laughter softened as realization dawned. "Wait...are you actually interested?"

It wasn't a question.

Ryan's smirk deepened.

"Oh, I knew it." Rachael clapped her hands. "I mean, you're usually so indifferent when it comes to women, but Irene she's a different breed entirely."

"She doesn't care about impressing me," Ryan murmured. "She doesn't even care if I exist."

"That's what makes it fun, doesn't it?"

Ryan exhaled, shaking his head with a small chuckle. "Maybe."

Then, without another word, he started moving.

Rachael blinked. "Wait where are you going?

He didn't look back. "To find Irene."

Rachael bit her lip to keep from laughing again. She had never seen her brother take an interest in anyone like this.

Irene, of all people, had unknowingly caught the attention of the one man who didn't take rejection lightly.

And Ryan?

Ryan was a man who never lost.

Meanwhile

Irene walked briskly toward the exit, the night's cold air already calling to her.

Louis followed closely, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd. "You really are something else."

Irene smirked. "It worked, didn't it?"

Louis sighed. "You always do this."

"And they always leave," she replied smoothly, stepping into the dimly lit corridor that led to the main doors.

"Maybe not this time."

Irene turned slightly, giving him a questioning glance, but before Louis could elaborate

A voice cut through the air.

"Leaving so soon?"

Irene's steps halted.

She turned fully this time, and there he was Ryan, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

She expected to see disappointment. Maybe annoyance.

But no.

Ryan looked amused.

Like she had just made things more interesting.

Irene met Ryan's gaze with the same cold indifference.

"Yes," she answered simply. "I am leaving."

Ryan tilted his head slightly. "Already?"

She arched a brow. “I never planned to stay long."

Before he could respond, Ryan's gaze shifted to the man beside her. He had noticed him earlier but hadn't paid much attention until now. The man stood close, comfortable, as if it was second nature to be by her side. His presence wasn't territorial, but there was something settled about it. Familiar.

And Ryan didn't like that.

Irene caught his lingering stare and, as if sensing the unspoken question, said, "This is Louis. A friend."

A friend.

Ryan had no idea why that word tugged at something deep inside him. It was such a simple thing, yet it irritated him more than it should.

Louis simply nodded. He didn't bother extending a hand, and Ryan didn't expect him to. There was an air of quiet understanding between them, something that spoke of history. Trust.

Ryan wasn't used to feeling anything about such things, but for some reason, the thought of Irene being close to another man even as just a friend felt...unsettling.

He masked it well.

"A friend?" Ryan repeated, his tone unreadable.

Irene's expression didn't waver. "Yes. A close one."

She said it as if daring him to question it.

Ryan didn't.

Instead, he let out a small chuckle, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Interesting."

Irene didn't ask what he meant. She had already turned, stepping past him with Louis by her side.

Ryan watched them leave, his smirk still in place, but his mind was already elsewhere.

She had dismissed him easily, uninterested, just as she had with every other man.

But for the first time in a long time...

Ryan felt challenged.

And Ryan Winthrop never walked away from a challenge.

Ryan remained where he was, watching as Irene and Louis disappeared through the grand entrance.

Rachael stepped up beside him, arms crossed. "So?"

Ryan exhaled sharply, his smirk returning. "So what?"

"Oh, don't play dumb," she said, nudging him with her elbow. "You just got tossed aside for the first time in your life. How's that feel?"

Ryan rolled his shoulders, unaffected. "She didn't toss me aside. She just doesn't know me yet."

Rachael gave him a long, knowing look. "Ryan...."

"What?"

Her voice softened, but there was something serious in her tone. "Are you actually interested in her? Or is she just another one of your amusements?"

Ryan glanced at his sister, his expression unreadable.

"You never cared about women before," Rachael continued."You've always said relationships are just distractions, so what is this?"

Ryan was quiet for a moment before he chuckled. "I don't know yet."

Rachael frowned. "Ryan, she's not someone you just mess with. Irene is... different."

"I know," he said simply.

"No, I mean really different," Rachael pressed. "She's not just some cold-hearted woman who doesn't care about love. I don't know why, but she's guarded for real.

Ryan's smirk faded slightly. "And that's why you stopped talking?"

Rachael hesitated before nodding. "I tried, but we lost contact. She disappeared after our first year of college. I didn't know what happened to her."

Ryan absorbed this, his gaze darkening slightly. "She's hiding something."

"Maybe," Rachael admitted. "But Ryan, if this is just a game to you, don't do it."

Ryan's smirk returned, but it was slower, more calculated. "Who said anything about a game?"

Rachael sighed, shaking her head. She didn't believe him yet. But she knew her brother.

If he had set his sights on something on someone he wasn't going to let go.

And that worried her.

Because for the first time, she wasn't sure if Ryan was chasing Irene out of curiosity...

Or if he was serious.

Meanwhile....

Irene leaned back in the car seat, arms crossed, as Louis drove through the quiet streets.

"You do realize you just caught the attention of the one man who doesn't back down, right?" Louis finally said.

Irene exhaled, eyes closed. "Ryan Winthrop? He'll move on."

Louis hummed. "You sure about that?"

She scoffed. "I'm not special."

Louis glanced at her through the rearview mirror but said nothing.

Because she was lying.

She was special, and she knew it. She just refused to accept it.

Winthrop Industries ruled the business world. I.V.Y ruled the fashion world.

Her brand wasn't just the number one fashion empire in the United States, it was a global phenomenon. From Hollywood to Paris, from Dubai to Tokyo, the elite fought to be the first to own an I.V.Y collection. Every designer envied its influence. Every luxury brand tried to compete. And yet, no one knew who owned it.

She had built it from the ground up. Alone.

A genius. That's what she was.

She had only just started, yet she was already shaking the fashion world. And the best part? No one knew.

No one knew the mastermind behind the empire that set trends and dictated luxury.

No one but her parents. And her two childhood friends Louis and Hayes.

Louis, who admired her more than he'd ever say.

But that wasn't all. Behind the scenes, Irene was more than just a fashion mogul. She was the secret weapon of the corporate world, a highly sought-after consultant whose expertise could make or break a company.

Top executives would do anything for her insight. CEOs who had no idea who she was reaped the benefits of her genius. And yet, no one in those companies not the employees, not the shareholders knew of her involvement. That was her only condition. Secrecy.

She had done in a few years what most men took decades to achieve. And she did it in the shadows, never stepping into the spotlight, never letting anyone see the woman behind the throne.

Louis stole another glance at her, watching as she gazed out the window, seemingly unbothered by everything.

Brilliant. Cold. Unshakable.

She was ridiculous.

And yet, he respected her more than anyone else.

"I was just thinking..." Louis spoke again, his voice lighter now, teasing. "You and Ryan would make an interesting pair."

Irene snorted. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, think about it." Louis shrugged. "Both of you are cut from the same cloth cold, powerful, and ruthless when it comes to your empires. You dominate your industries, intimidate the weak, and have the emotional range of a rock."

Irene rolled her eyes. "Oh, how romantic."

Louis smirked. I'm serious. You're both the type to conquer, not submit. You'd either destroy each other or rule the world together." He glanced at her before adding slyly, "Besides, even Ryan Winthrop is a fan of your work."

Irene arched a brow. "What?"

Louis's grin widened. "He was wearing I.V.Y."

She scoffed. "Which elite doesn't wear I.V.Y?"

Louis chuckled. "Still, imagine his reaction when he finds out the designer he's unknowingly obsessed with is the same woman rejecting him to his face." He shook his head. "That's going to be fun to watch."

Irene merely hummed, but there was something dangerously amused in her gaze.

Then, before Louis could bask too much in his teasing, she turned her head to him, a slow, mischievous smile playing on her lips.

"Hmm." She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on the car's armrest, chin propped against her palm. "If thats the case, then why aren't we compatible, Louis?"

Louis stiffened.

Irene tilted her head, her eyes gleaming. "You did say I need someone on my level, didn't you?" Her voice dropped slightly, teasing, "And you're quite impressive yourself."

Louis gripped the steering wheel hard.

For the first time in the conversation, he was the one caught off guard.

A bead of cold sweat slid down his temple.

He had really walked into this one.

Irene smirked, watching his jaw clench as he kept his eyes fixed on the road. "What's wrong, Louis?" she drawled, voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Feeling shy?"

Louis let out a slow, measured breath, nostrils flaring slightly. "No."

"Then why do you look like you want to throw yourself out of this car?"

Louis gritted his teeth.

Damn it.

He should have known better. Irene never let anyone win.

She always had a comeback sharp, dangerous, and devastating.

Louis forced himself to relax. "You're not my type."

Irene gasped dramatically. "Not your type?" She placed a hand over her chest. "How cruel, Louis. I thought we had something special."

Louis clenched his jaw. "Shut up, Irene."

She smirked. "Oh, but I'm hurt. Deeply wounded." She sighed, shaking her head. "If only I knew the great Louis had such high standards."

Louis groaned, gripping the wheel even tighter. "I take it back."

Irene raised a brow. "Oh? Why so soon? I thought you were serious about my perfect match?"

Louis gave her a tight-lipped smile, one that barely hid his frustration. "Forget I said anything."

Irene leaned back, looking utterly pleased with herself. "Hmm. Not a chance."

Louis sighed heavily, mentally cursing himself for ever teasing her in the first place.

Because he knew one thing for certain

Irene would never let him live this down.

AT THE BALL

Ryan stood there even though Irene's car has disappeared into the night, the lingering echo of her presence refusing to fade. He didn't move immediately. Instead, he stood there, hands in his pockets, jaw tense.

There was something about her.

Something unsettling. And it wasn't just her beauty.

It was the way she looked at him like he was nothing. Like he didn't exist. Like he didn't matter.

She was dangerous.

Not in the way most women were.

No, Irene Lancaster was dangerous because she didn't care.

Not about him. Not about anyone.

And that, that was irritatingly fascinating.

And to think she thought she had dismissed him is amusing.

Irene Lancaster.

That woman was meticulous. She hadn't just shown up to the ball on a whim no, she had planned it.

Calculated it.

When she arrived, the event hadn't officially started. The ballroom hadn't been fully crowded yet, just a scattering of early arrivals meaning fewer eyes had been on her. And when she left? The party was in full swing, music loud, conversations flowing, guests too occupied with themselves to notice her slipping away.

Clever.

She must've thought she was in control. That she had minimized attention, kept her presence at the event from becoming a spectacle.

She was wrong.

Ryan wasn't stupid he had seen the way some people turned toward them when they were together. He knew people had noticed.

And more than that he knew some had taken pictures.

He didn't even have to check his phone to confirm it. A man like him, a woman like her it was impossible for cameras not to come out.

And he could already picture what tomorrow would look like.

Their faces. Together. Plastered all over social media.

Ryan Winthrop and Irene Lancaster?!

The cold-hearted billionaire finally meets his match!

Who is she?!

Did we just witness the start of something?!

Rumors. Speculations. Chaos.

Normally, Ryan would shut it down. He valued his privacy he had destroyed headlines before, made articles disappear, ensured that whatever he didn't want in the media never saw the light of day.

But this time?

A slow, dark smirk crept onto his lips.

He wouldn't stop it.

No, he would let it spread. Let it circulate. Let it reach her.

Because he wanted to see her reaction.

Would she care?

Would she ignore it? Would she be irritated? Would she call him?

Would she try to erase herself from the narrative?

She thinks meeting here tonight is the end.

It wasn't.

Ryan's smirk deepened.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he turned back toward the ballroom. The moment he stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted.

As he moved through the crowd, people turned.

Some smiled, others whispered. A few especially women straightened their postures, their eyes lighting up at the rare sight of Ryan Winthrop at a social event.

He was the kind of man who was spoken about in hushed voices, admired from afar. Cold, untouchable, and maddeningly elusive.

And yet tonight, he was here.

A few brave souls attempted to engage him.

"Mr. Winthrop, I was wondering if..."

"Ryan, it's been a long time! How about a....."

"Mr. Winthrop, we should discuss..."

Others who had seen his ruthless side before shivered and wisely kept their distance.

He didn't stop.

He didn't slow down.

He didn't even glance at them.

He walked past them like they didn't exist.

The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea.

He had only one destination in mind.

Jason Kingsley, his best friend, the heir to the Kingsley empire and the host to this extravagant event, stood near the VIP lounge, deep in conversation with a business associate. He was leaning slightly forward, pointing at an open portfolio on the counter, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Ryan approached.

Jason, without looking up, continued speaking. "No, listen, the numbers don't add up"

Then he glanced up.

And froze.

His lips parted slightly, confusion flickering in his eyes.

And then...

He choked on his drink.

Not just a small, subtle cough.

No.

Violently.