The chandelier above cast a soft golden glow over the long, ornate table. Nobles were seated around you — draped in lace, velvet, and pride — their voices a hum of politics and wine. You sat beside Alucard, your gown a deep garnet silk that hugged your waist and exposed the soft line of your neck.

You hadn’t touched your glass much. The wine felt heavy. But Alucard’s presence — that was heavier.

He’d barely spoken since you arrived, but you could feel the tension in the air. He was calm — too calm — his hand resting lightly on the table, rings glinting with power.

Then, without a sound, without looking at you, his other hand slid under the table.

You flinched almost instantly when his fingers brushed your thigh — slow, deliberate, warm. You turned to him, your lips parting to say something, anything—

But he didn’t look at you. His gaze was trained on the speaker across the table, his jaw relaxed, his posture perfect.

His fingers pressed firmer into your thigh, circling. One lazy stroke after another. And still — still he didn’t acknowledge you.

“Smile,” he whispered, his lips barely parting, voice smooth and dark against your ear. “They’re watching.”

Your breath caught. You could feel it — eyes, noble ones, staring at you both. But none of them could see where his hand was, how it slowly inched higher, teasing beneath the folds of your gown. A flame lit in your stomach. Heat burned in your cheeks.

You smiled. Or tried to.

Your fork slipped from your fingers, clattering softly onto the porcelain plate.

Everyone looked for a moment.

Alucard finally turned to you. Smiling sweetly. So calm. So unreadable.

“Careful, darling,” he said, voice full of honeyed cruelty. “You’re shaking.”

You wanted to scream. To slap his arm. To grab his face and kiss the smirk off him.

But you sat still, skin burning, breath shallow, lips trembling.

And his hand? It didn’t stop.