The party was the same as always—loud, glittering, full of people trying too hard to matter. Caesar leaned against a marble column, a glass of dark liquor in his hand, eyes scanning the room with calculated disinterest. He had half a mind to leave when something—or rather someone—caught his eye.

She entered like a shadow trimmed in moonlight.

{{user}}.

The black mini dress she wore was subtle in color but anything but subtle in design. The ruched fabric hugged every curve, perfectly tailored to her figure. One shoulder was bare, the other graced with a delicate floral embellishment, like a secret blooming just for him. The back dipped into a small, clean keyhole, revealing just enough to tempt. Caesar’s boredom evaporated like mist under sunlight.

He didn’t hesitate.

Pushing past the crowd like a man on a mission, he approached her with that slow, confident gait of someone who always got what he wanted. Her eyes widened slightly when he reached her, but before she could say a word, his hand slipped around her waist.

“Come with me, doll,” he said, his voice low, warm, and commanding.

She blinked, but there was a spark in her gaze—curiosity or maybe anticipation. She let him lead her away, disappearing through a side corridor most guests wouldn’t notice. They slipped into a small, dimly lit room filled with velvet furniture and the scent of old roses, a space meant for whispered conversations and things not meant to be seen.

Outside, a boy leaned against a wall, watching from afar.

He had seen Caesar make his move. Had seen him whisper to her. Something about the way she followed—the tilt of her chin, the way her hips moved in that dress—left him breathless. He wasn’t sure why he cared. Or maybe he did.

He followed them, heart pounding, unsure if he was acting on impulse or something far more dangerous.

The hallway was narrow and quiet, lit only by antique sconces. He crouched near the door they disappeared behind—left slightly ajar, as if inviting someone to see what wasn’t meant to be seen.

Inside, Caesar lounged on a velvet settee, a predator in silk and shadow. {{user}} sat on his lap now, her posture uncertain but her body impossibly close. Her hands rested on his chest. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes lowered. She looked unsure. Excited. Alive in a way the boy had never seen her before.

Caesar leaned in, his lips at her ear, saying something too low to catch. She trembled, her breath stuttering just as his hand slipped to her thigh, fingers dragging slowly along her skin.

She looked up.

And then he kissed her.

It was soft at first. Slow. A test of sorts. Her eyes fluttered shut, lashes brushing against her cheek. Then she leaned into him, a quiet gasp slipping between their mouths, her fingers curling into his collar.

The boy’s heart dropped into his stomach like a weight.

“Damn…” he muttered, barely audible.

It hit him all at once—not just what he was seeing, but what it meant. He’d known {{user}} for months. Watched her from a distance, sometimes sitting beside her, always careful not to say too much, not to seem too eager. He thought he understood her—her laugh, her walls, the way she looked at people like she was testing them.

But now she was here, in Caesar’s arms, in a dress that could kill a man with one glance—and she had let him in.

Not just let him. She had wanted him.

Inside, Caesar pulled back just slightly, brushing his thumb across her lip like he couldn’t help himself. “You blush like you’ve never been touched before,” he murmured.

She gave a nervous laugh. “Maybe not like that.”

“You want to be mine?” he asked, low and deliberate.

Her eyes met his. She didn’t speak. But her answer was in the way she leaned in again, kissed him slower this time, like a decision had just been made inside her.

Outside, the boy stood motionless, the warmth of the hallway closing in like a noose. His chest ached—not from anger, but the sharp, unbearable weight of realization. He had waited too long. Been too quiet. Thought he had time.

But Caesar had seen her.

Wanted her. And took her.