The ballroom is all gold light and quiet power—crystal chandeliers, polished glass, the soft clink of silverware. Everything is elegant, controlled.

Like Ronan.

Like you.

You sit across from him, candlelight flickering between you, the auction unfolding just beyond. People keep glancing your way—some because of you, others because of the man sitting across from you like he owns the room.

He doesn’t watch the stage.

He watches you.

“You’re supposed to be paying attention,” you murmur, lifting your glass.

“I am,” he says calmly.

“You haven’t looked away from me.”

“I don’t need to.”

You shake your head, amused.

At the table beside you, Kolya sits composed, already engaged in quiet conversation. Yan, though—Yan leans toward you, easier, warmer.

“You look incredible tonight,” he says, genuine. “They’re all staring.”

You smile softly. “Thank you, Yan.”

Ronan doesn’t move.

But you feel it—the shift in him.

Small. Sharp.

Yan continues anyway. “Are you bidding tonight?”

“Of course,” you say lightly. “It’s for a good cause.”

“She always gives,” Ronan says, finally speaking.

His tone is calm, but it cuts in clean.

Yan leans back slightly.

You glance at Ronan. “I can answer.”

“I know,” he replies. “I prefer to.”

Kolya hides a smirk behind his glass.

The auction continues, numbers rising. Without hesitation, you lift your paddle.

A clean, confident bid.

Ronan doesn’t ask what for.

He just nods once, like it’s already approved.

“For you,” he says quietly.

“It’s not for me,” you correct. “It’s for them.”

He studies you for a moment—really studies you—before reaching for his own paddle.

A higher number.

You turn sharply. “Ronan—”

“I’m contributing,” he says simply.

Yan smiles, amused. “He’s trying to impress you.”

Ronan’s gaze snaps to him—cold, precise.

“I don’t try,” he says. “I do.”

Yan lifts his hands slightly, conceding.

You reach across the table, placing your hand over Ronan’s.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

The tension eases.

His fingers turn under yours, holding briefly, thumb brushing your skin once—subtle, possessive.

Across the room, the bidding continues.

At your table, it’s quieter.

Kolya remains composed.

Yan watches, curious.

And Ronan—

Ronan sits across from you like he owns everything in sight…

and still chooses to prove himself to you.