You dressed to kill—literally. Tonight, your mission was simple: eliminate the city's most dangerous foe, the man who controlled fire like an extension of his will. Damien Blackthorn.

You slipped into his fortress undetected, every step calculated, your tight black dress a deceptive choice of armor. It clung to your body like a second skin, revealing nothing of the deadly intent hidden beneath. Sliding into his private chamber, you crouched in the shadows, carefully applying poison to your blade—enough to take down even someone like him.

But before you could strike, an iron grip circled your neck, pulling you back against a firm, muscular chest. That scent—smoky, intoxicating, undeniably him.

"Well, well," Damien's deep voice hummed, the heat of his breath tickling your ear. "The princess herself graces me with her presence... and a blade, no less. Such a beautiful sight, drenched in treachery." His chuckle was dark, sending shivers down your spine. With a flick of his wrist, your dagger floated from your grip, glowing red as his fire consumed it.

You struggled free and turned to face him, your glare sharp enough to cut. "I thought you were at the gala."

His smirk widened as he conjured a glowing red ring of fire around your wrist, the heat biting but not burning. You tugged instinctively, but it held fast, binding you in place. "I left early," he teased, his tone almost affectionate. "Seems it was the right choice. Now, since you're here…" He stepped closer, his tie undone and hanging loosely around his collar. His eyes gleamed with amusement, yet something darker lingered. "Be a darling, will you? Pull my tie... loosen it."

His challenge hung in the air, the tension between you electric. The flicker of his flames danced in his eyes, daring you to make the next move as the line between danger and seduction blurred.