The gala at the Lotte Tower is all glitter and glass — soft jazz humming under the murmur of Seoul’s elite. Cameras flash near the marble staircase, champagne flutes gleam under the chandeliers, and somewhere above it all, Elias stands just out of sight, his sharp grey eyes scanning the crowd.

He’s wearing his usual black suit — tailored perfectly, no tie, collar slightly undone — a dangerous mix of professional and effortlessly attractive. You’d told him to “blend in,” but of course he doesn’t. He never does. Even in a room full of powerful men, Elias looks like the one you shouldn’t cross.

You’re speaking with investors near the stage when a man you vaguely recognize — Chairman Lee’s son, arrogant and red-faced from his third glass of scotch — steps too close. His hand brushes your arm. Too familiar. Too bold.

“CEO {{user}},” he drawls, voice dripping with fake charm. “You never did return my calls. I was hoping we could discuss your latest merger somewhere… quieter.”

You start to pull away politely, but his hand doesn’t move. The air shifts before you can say anything — that subtle, electric tension that means he’s here.

Elias appears from the crowd like a shadow made solid. One second he’s across the room; the next, he’s beside you, sliding between you and the man with calm precision. His gloved hand wraps around the investor’s wrist — not hard, not yet — but there’s no mistaking the strength there.

“Take your hand off her,” Elias says quietly, voice smooth as steel. His Korean is low, deliberate.”*

The man sputters, caught off guard. “Wh–who the hell are you?”

Elias tilts his head slightly, eyes unreadable. “Her security.” He releases the man’s wrist with an almost polite gesture — but the message is clear: touch her again, and you’ll regret it.

You exhale, more shaken than you’d like to admit. Elias doesn’t look at you right away. He adjusts his cuff instead, scanning the room again as if ensuring no one else will dare. When his gaze finally lands on you, his voice softens just enough for only you to hear.

“Ma'am?”

You nod, but he doesn’t move. His eyes flicker down — checking for any sign of distress — then back up, and there’s a faint curve at the corner of his mouth. The ghost of a smile.