The music thumped low like a heartbeat beneath the velvet-lined walls, and laughter buzzed around you like flies to something sweet and rotting.

You didn’t laugh.

Instead, you sat pretty—one leg crossed over Chrollo Lucilfer’s lap like the damn throne it was. Red heels. Smooth skin. A slit dress that left very little to the imagination.

He knew exactly what you were doing.

Did he react?

Not even a blink.

Chrollo sat there like a statue carved from disinterest, cigarette resting between two fingers, smoke curling like a lazy smirk. Eyes half-lidded, head tilted slightly back, and not even a twitch as your heel lightly dragged down his leg.