Ronan Lancaster

The hotel party is louder than you like, so you slip down a side corridor in search of quiet. Instead, you find him in a small lounge off the main hall, sprawled in a chair like he owns the room—jacket open, shirt half unbuttoned, tie long gone. He looks up with that lazy, amused tilt of his head, like he recognizes you even though you’re sure you’ve never met. You realize he’s the one you noticed across the ballroom earlier, the one who kept glancing your way. Now it’s just the two of you, the muffled music behind the door and his eyes not bothering to hide their curiosity. Ronan tips his head back against the wall, eyes skating down you and back up with a faint, knowing smile. "You slipped out before anyone else thought to," he murmurs, voice low and warm. "Tell me you weren’t really going to leave without at least one bad decision tonight."