Golden Heart

n the silky fabric of her deep green gown. She felt out of place, as always, in this crowd of Manhattan's elite. But tonight was important for her nonprofit; the annual charity gala meant a chan

here he was, standing beside her, looking almost as out of place as she felt. "Grace Anderson," he repeated, as though testing the sound of it. "What brings you here tonight?" "My organization," she explained. "We run community programs in underserved neighborhoods. I'm here... hoping for donations." He nodded thoughtfully. "A noble cause." His gaze sharpened. "But it can't be easy. These types of events are usually about appearances, not real impact." Surprised, she studied him for a moment. There was a hint of cynicism in his tone, as if he understood the undercurrents of wealth and power far better than anyone she'd met here. Most people brushed her off, dismissed her as another idealist. But he seemed genuinely interested. "It's not easy," she admitted. "But someone has to do it. I believe in what I'm fighting for." He looked at her intently, as if weighing her words. "You're different from the others here, aren't you?" She laughed softly. "If by different you mean I didn't come here to flaunt my wealth, then yes, I suppose I am." A glint of amusement appeared in his eyes. "Tell me more about your work." It was the last thing she'd expected. People like him didn't usually want to hear the gritty details of her daily battles. But something in his expression encouraged her to speak. "We focus on after-school programs, safe spaces for kids, and job training for young adults," she said, passion warming her tone. "Most of the people we help are just trying to make ends meet. It's hard to keep everything running with the funding we have, but we do what we can." He listened intently, his gaze never wavering. She found herself drawn to his silent intensity, the way he seemed to absorb every word. "And tonight, you're here hoping