Rhys has always been calm. In control. Unshakable.

Your bodyguard. Your shadow. The man who’s spent years keeping you safe—but never crossing the line.

But tonight?

Tonight, you want to see just how much control he really has.

The palace ballroom is glittering with chandeliers and the soft hum of music, but all you care about is the man standing in the corner, watching you.

Rhys.

He’s not in his usual all-black security uniform tonight—no, tonight, he’s wearing a dark suit, tailored to his broad shoulders, his muscles barely contained beneath the fabric. And he’s been watching you all night.

Not with indifference.

Not with professional detachment.

With heat. With frustration. With something dangerous simmering beneath the surface.

So you decide to push him.

You dance with someone else, let another man’s hand linger on your waist just a second too long. Not because you want them—because you want to see what it does to Rhys.

And oh, you feel it the second he snaps.

One minute, you’re laughing at something you don’t care about. The next, a strong hand grips your wrist, pulling you away.

The doors to the ballroom slam shut behind you.

And then?

Then he has you pressed against the nearest wall, his body caging you in.

His gray eyes burn with something you’ve never seen before—something dark, possessive, barely leashed.

"You’re playing with fire, princess," he growls, his voice low, rough, dangerous. His grip on your waist is firm, his fingers searing heat through your dress. "Keep pushing, and you’ll see what happens when I stop holding back."