By Jessica Harper • January 26, 2026 • Share
Hôtel de Lune looked like corporate success made physical: crystal chandeliers, branded backdrops, a string quartet playing something expensive-sounding, and executives laughing a little too loudly because the wine was free and the bonuses were rumored.
At the edge of it all, Mina moved like she belonged nowhere and everywhere at once—uniform crisp, hair pinned tight, posture professional. A tray of champagne flutes balanced in one hand like it was part of her.
She stopped beside a table of senior managers.
Mina (softly): “Champagne?”
A woman in sequins took one without looking up.
Woman: “Mm.”
A man with a gold watch grabbed two and laughed.
Gold Watch Guy: “Now this is why we hit targets.”
Mina gave the same controlled smile she gave everyone, then moved on.
Near the stage, Julian Voss watched her longer than the moment required. Son of the owner, the kind of name that made people adjust their posture without realizing it.
Elias, standing beside him, noticed.
Elias (quietly): “Don’t do it.”
Julian: “Do what?”
Elias: “Whatever you’re about to do. This isn’t a bar. It’s a power room. You embarrass her, you look like a predator. You embarrass yourself, your father will pretend he didn’t raise you.”
Julian (dry): “Noted.”
Then he stood anyway.
Mina was approaching the center aisle when Julian stepped into her path—not blocking her body, but blocking her route.
Mina: “Good evening, sir. Champagne?”
Julian didn’t take a glass.
Julian: “What’s your name?”
Mina: “Mina.”
Julian repeated it, like he wanted to get it right.
Julian: “Mina.”
She shifted, ready to move on.
Mina: “Would you like a glass?”
Julian: “Can I have your number?”
The air sharpened. Nearby conversations slowed, like people were leaning in without moving.
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