The grand chandelier sparkled above, casting prisms of light across the marble floors of the lavish Rosewood estate. You smoothed your outfit nervously, glancing around at the elegantly dressed guests sipping champagne. This wasn’t your usual scene.

But Delilah Alves? She looked effortlessly at home. In a sleek, black gown that hugged her form perfectly, her hair swept back, and eyes sharp and calculating, she was both alluring and intimidating.

“You’re sweating,” she whispered, stepping beside you, her voice smooth and teasing.

“I am not,” you protested, adjusting your tie.

“Yes, you are,” she smirked. “Relax. We’re here to blend in. Remember the plan.”

You both entered the gala, moving among the crowd like ghosts, observing, listening. Your task was simple on paper: locate and retrieve sensitive documents from a corrupt socialite. In reality, blending in while keeping your nerves in check and trying not to be completely distracted by Delilah’s presence was anything but simple.

“You’ve got to keep your eyes open,” she whispered, leaning close as you navigated the crowd. Her perfume was intoxicating, a mix of confidence and danger. “And try not to stare at me like a lovesick fool.”

“Not staring!” you hissed, though your heartbeat betrayed you.

Minutes later, you found yourselves in a quiet hallway, away from the party chatter. Delilah tapped on a locked cabinet, producing a small tool kit. “Hand me that,” she said, pointing to your bag.

As you passed it over, your hands brushed. Sparks—electric and undeniable—shot up your arm. Delilah glanced at you, one brow raised, her lips twitching in amusement.

“Careful,” she whispered, “don’t let me catch you staring again.”

You flushed. “I—wasn’t—”

She laughed softly, placing a finger over your lips. “Shh. Focus. Mission first. Flirting later.”