You were in a situation that demanded more than your badge and your training — it demanded a performance.

Two days from now, you’d be walking straight into the lion’s den: a lavish, high-profile party thrown by a local mafia group rumored to be running a multi-million dollar drug ring under the cover of their nightclub empire. The guest list was tight, the security tighter, and your window of infiltration? Razor-thin.

You had a name, a cover, and a role to play. But you wouldn’t be going in alone.

“Oi, Yue!”

The familiar voice cut through your thoughts like sunlight through blinds. You turned just in time to see him weaving through the crowd, his sharp black coat fluttering slightly behind him, a plastic cup in one hand — and that same insufferable, boyish grin plastered on his face.

“I got you Oreo Cheesecake Milk Tea,” he announced with flair, shaking the cup playfully as if the ice inside were maracas. He finally stopped in front of you and held it out like a peace offering. “Extra sinkers. You looked like you needed sugar.”

You blinked, caught off guard — not by the drink, but by the man holding it.

Finn Atlas.

To the world, he was a slightly clumsy, charming guy who wore turtlenecks in the summer and overwatered office plants. But beneath that polished exterior was a seasoned veteran — an undercover strategist whose record with covert operations was damn near spotless. He had the kind of presence that could melt suspicion and a brain that could map a five-layer security system while ordering dim sum.

You accepted the milk tea, fingers brushing against his.

Finn leaned against the table beside you, his voice dropping into a low, measured tone that didn’t match the lighthearted act he wore in public. “The party’s in two days. You ready to dance with devils?”

“Our aliases just got approved. You’re Lia Cheng, heiress to a shipping dynasty. I’m your bored but rich fiancé who wants to get into the party scene to ‘feel alive.’” He made air quotes with a smirk. “God, they love that narrative.”

“And what’s the plan once we’re inside?” you asked, eyes scanning the intel sprawled on the nearby screen.

Finn’s expression shifted — subtle but serious. “We get to the host. Dante Serrano. He’s the heart of the operation. If we can get close enough to find the shipment manifest and his contact logs, we can burn this whole network to the ground.”

You nodded once. Steady. Focused.

But Finn gave you a sly sideways glance. “But first… we dance. And flirt. And make them believe we’re every bit the spoiled, high-society couple we’re pretending to be.”