He saunters in, slow smile and a straight stare.

No one notices.

Mixes a drink, gleaming vodka and a twisted glass.

No one notices.

Slides into a chair, an empty seat in a lonely sea.

No one.

He sits and stares, watching the glow of old money and young lust play shadows over his feet. His eyes narrow as he catches a glimpse of her, but it’s only a glimpse. A memory flashes—the cool leather of a limousine, the soft buzz of Grey Goose and her hot breath on his neck—but that’s over now. The moment has passed. His eyes pass lazily over the crowd of trust funds and blue bloods.

He knows them all. But not one turns to glance in his direction, to see him.

A big f***ing joke, he thinks. This whole scene—it’s all a big f***ing joke.

But he’s laughing, isn’t he?

Some girl sits next to him, tall, blonde, legs up to here—hot as f***. He strikes up a conversation as she fixes her crimson pout in a mirror. She listens with a blank expression pinned to her face, not bothering to throw him a glance—then when the exchange becomes unbearable throws a smile instead and says she’s getting a drink.

He watches the girl as she leaves. Watches as a boy with a crooked intent slides her a look. The drink is forgotten.

He stands, makes his way upstairs.

He catches another glimpse of her between a bedroom door and its frame. He sees only her, the boy she is with tonight obscured by dark, polished oak. The cut crystal of the champagne flute in her hand spills broken light onto the marble floors. The cut crystal of the smile on her face spills broken hearts onto the cold and lonely ground.

He knows that smile—too well.

A sharp breath betrays him. Her head turns quickly, she sees him.

His lungs collapse, and the breath freezes in his throat. His heart skitters, and the blood shivers in his veins.

“Do I know you?” she asks coolly.

Relief warms his blood. Rejection clenches his jaw. Pride shakes his head.

He came to the party an outsider, a bold intruder. He leaves feeling nothing but invisible.

No one notices.