the mikaelson mansion was a shimmering cage of silk, champagne, and secrets. {{user}} felt the weight of damonβs hand on the small of her back, a possessive anchor that usually felt steadying but tonight felt like a shackle. she adjusted the strap of her gown, her curves draped in deep emerald velvet that caught the light of a thousand candles, feeling every bit the prize being contested.
damon was at the bar now, his eyes like ice chips tracking her every move while he downed his third bourbon. then, the air shifted. the temperature in the room seemed to drop and rise all at once as niklaus mikaelson stepped into her space, his presence a physical force that knocked the breath from her lungs.
"i believe you owe me a dance, {{user}}," he murmured, his british accent like velvet over gravel.
he didn't wait for an answer. his hand, warm and calloused from centuries of holding both brushes and blades, slid firmly onto her waist. he pulled her into the swell of the music, his touch assertive against the softness of her hip. {{user}}'s heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
"youβre staring. people will notice," she whispered, her gaze flickering toward the bar where damonβs grip on his glass was tightening until his knuckles turned white.
klaus didn't even glance away from her. his blue-green eyes were predatory yet devastatingly tender, searching her face as if memorizing a masterpiece. "let them. iβve spent a thousand years getting what i want, {{user}}. do you really think a leather-clad vampire with an attitude problem is going to stop me now?"
"heβs my life, klaus," she countered, though her voice lacked the conviction she desperately needed.
the hybrid stepped closer, his thigh brushing against hers through the layers of her skirt, his scent of old parchment and expensive scotch enveloping her. "heβs your now. i am your eventually."