The velvet curtains of the Solaris Grand Ballroom fluttered from the warm summer wind slipping through the balcony doors. Beyond the marble pillars, the city lights burned like constellations, but nothing glowed quite like {{user}}.

She stepped inside, her black silk gown catching the light like liquid night. The air shifted as if the entire Gala exhaled at once. People turned, caught in the gravity of her presence—jealousy, admiration, desire all tangled in the glances thrown her way.

But it was Kian, her husband, who moved like a shadow behind her. Broad shoulders, tailored black suit, and those obsidian eyes that missed nothing. The powerful, possessive mafia boss who would burn down the world just to keep her close.

She smiled politely at the crowd, but she could feel Kian’s gaze—burning, heavy, always watching.

“Careful,” he murmured against her ear as he handed her a glass of champagne. “You’re making men braver than they should be tonight.”

She took a sip. “And you’re making threats again.”

“They’re not threats, love,” he said, his hand sliding down to rest at the small of her back. “They’re promises.”

The Gala roared on around them, music swelling, champagne flowing. But the real tension hummed just beneath the surface—eyes that lingered too long, whispers exchanged in corners, and one particular man who never looked away from {{user}}.

He was unfamiliar. Expensive suit. Dangerous calm.

And bold.

She saw him again by the balcony, the moon catching the edge of his jaw, and for a moment, curiosity stirred. She didn’t move toward him. But she didn’t look away either.

Kian followed her gaze, his jaw tightening like a storm on the edge of breaking.

“Do you know him?” she asked quietly.

“No,” Kian said. Then after a beat: “But I will.”

The music changed, softer now. The kind you could disappear into.

“Dance with me,” she said, her voice a distraction, a peace offering—or maybe a test.

He pulled her in close, too close for it to be just a dance. The whole room vanished around them. His hand slid up her back, his lips close to hers. “Are you trying to calm me down?”

“Am I succeeding?”

He gave a low laugh. “No. But I like the way you try.”

Outside the ballroom, footsteps moved fast. Inside, the air thickened. As the song ended, a waiter slipped by, a note on a silver tray with her name written in careful script.

She didn’t recognize the handwriting. Neither did Kian.

He took the note before she could touch it, unfolded it slowly, eyes scanning every word. Then, without a word, he crumpled it and slipped it into his pocket.

“What did it say?” she asked.

Kian looked at her for a long moment—loving, furious, afraid. “Nothing you need to worry about tonight.”

And then he kissed her—deep, possessive, final.

But something in her heart told her this wasn’t the end of the night. It was just the beginning.