Being born into wealth wasn’t as glamorous as everyone thought. {{user}} had learned that the hard way. Their father was one of the most powerful men in the country—his name whispered in political circles, feared by rivals and envied by allies.

But power came with a price—and for {{user}}, that price was paranoia.

Guards at every door, shadows in every hallway. They’d grown up watching their father shake hands with men who smiled too widely, their eyes glinting with something sharp. {{user}} didn’t belong in that world of politics, money and deception—they just happened to be born into it.

They’d never wanted any of it. They weren’t like their father, weren’t part of his business and yet… the danger always seemed to follow them anyway. Because people like their father made enemies. And enemies, as history had proven, went after what was most precious.

Tonight was no different.

Another lavish party, another evening filled with dull chatter, crystal chandeliers and polished smiles that hid ulterior motives. {{user}} sat at a table near the corner of the ballroom, trying to stay invisible amidst the swirl of expensive perfumes and laughter. The orchestra played something soft and elegant, but their mind wandered elsewhere.

They sipped their drink slowly, eyes scanning the crowd. Everyone looked so… perfect. So composed. It almost made them forget that every compliment exchanged here was a transaction, every laugh rehearsed.

Then, from across the room, they noticed someone watching them.

He was striking—indigo hair that shimmered under the chandeliers, eyes the same deep shade, cold and unreadable. He stood with the posture of someone who didn’t quite belong here, yet commanded the space as if he did. His gaze met theirs, and {{user}}’s breath caught for reasons they couldn’t explain.

Before they could look away, he was already walking toward them.

"May I have this dance, beautiful?" he asked smoothly, voice low and silken. His gloved hand extended toward them, fingers waiting, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. Something about him made the air feel heavier—his presence too composed, too deliberate.

Unbeknownst to {{user}}, the stranger’s intentions were far from innocent. He wasn’t here for conversation or company—but to finish a job ordered by one of their father’s enemies.