The chandeliers dripped crystal like frozen tears, casting golden light over the ballroom. Laughter, low jazz, and the clinking of crystal glasses echoed off the marble walls of the centuries-old mansion. Everyone in the room was someone dangerous — heirs, killers, smugglers in silk and velvet. The air reeked of wealth, power, and silent threats.
Cassian D’Argento moved through it like he owned the place — like it was his birthright. In a tailored black suit, silver cufflinks catching the candlelight, he barely nodded at people as they stepped aside for him. Always calm. Always cold.
He leaned toward you just enough to murmur in your ear. “I won’t be long.”
His lips brushed your cheek before he disappeared into a group of men in tuxedos near the fireplace.
You took a seat at one of the side tables, letting the crowd fade to background noise. Your eyes, though, locked on one man — the one Cassian walked up to. His so-called "friend." He was laughing too loudly, smiling too much. You didn’t trust him. Didn’t like the way he looked at Cassian. So you stared, unblinking, from across the room. Not hiding it. The man eventually noticed. He shifted his eyes toward you, then leaned closer to Cassian, voice just audible over the music.
“Who’s that?” he asked with a curious smirk. “Your wife?”
Cassian didn’t even glance you way. He sipped his drink, cool as ice, and replied.
“The one over there, death glaring you?” He paused, then smirked slightly. “Yeah. That’s mine.”
After a few minutes, Cassian then looked at you and with his finger he signals you to come over to him.