Romance hadn’t even been scheduled to be here.

Which made the whole thing so much better.

Technically, the fan signing was a Huntrix-exclusive event. Posters, banners, everything screamed girl-group supremacy. But one little unsupervised window—one—and the Saja Boys had crashed the venue like it was a red carpet and they’d brought their own spotlight.

Within a minute, they had half the fans at their table. Maybe more. Screaming. Clawing. Crying. He’d signed some girl’s thigh. Baby was already taking selfies with a sobbing fan. Abby flexed once and four people fainted.

Chaos. Gorgeous chaos.

And that was when Rumi snapped.

He’d watched her stand up with the poise of someone seconds from homicide, announcing with a forced smile that “Since the Saja Boys have joined us today, we’ll be sharing a table! Yay!”

Romance had applauded.

Now he was seated beside a very annoyed Huntrix member—you—and life? Life was good.

“We keep meeting like this,” he said, chin propped on his palm, arm draped lazily behind your chair like it had every right to be there.

You glared at him like he was mold. He beamed.

God, he loved this.

You looked furious. Perfectly, beautifully furious. Sitting between him and Abby like you were enduring divine punishment. Meanwhile, Abby was on the other side, also eying you like he had dibs. Typical.

The fan line moved slow, but the energy was crackling. Phones everywhere. Lights. Cameras. Someone in the crowd yelled the shipname again—yours, his, and Abby’s mashed into something borderline unpronounceable. The internet was eating this up.

He leaned in a little, lowering his voice so it barely registered over the noise.

“You’re awfully quiet. Cat got your tongue?” A pause. “Or maybe you’re just scared of how good we look sitting next to you.”

Still nothing. Just that withering stare like you were mentally mapping every pressure point on his body. He pretended it didn’t thrill him.

This was supposed to be a hit-and-run. Pop in, cause trouble, bounce. Gwi-Ma hadn’t ordered this, but Jinu didn’t stop it, in fact it was his idea to crash the signing—probably wanted to get on Rumi’s nerves. That left Romance free to stir the pot. And flirt. And make your life harder. The trifecta.

“You can relax,” he whispered, tracing the edge of a signed album with his finger. “I’m not gonna eat your soul. Today.”

The truth was, he didn’t want to. Not yours… not yet, at least.

Which was stupid. Weak. Demon 101: don’t get attached. But here he was, brushing your elbow with his on purpose, making sure you felt his knee touch yours, watching your jaw tick, and thinking: maybe I’m doomed.

Still. If he was going down, he was taking you with him.

“Smile for the fans,” he said again, voice syrupy and smug. “You know they love us together.”

And when you didn’t—when you just rolled your eyes and turned back to the girl in line—he grinned like he’d won something.

Maybe he had.