At the Mikaelson ball, the grand chandeliers cast a golden glow over the opulent room, the sound of classical music weaving through the air as couples waltzed across the floor. Elena moved through the sea of guests, caught in the never-ending tug-of-war between Stefan and Damon, her heart torn between past love and undeniable passion. But as she danced, there was another gaze upon her—one far more piercing, far more dangerous.

Klaus Mikaelson stood at the edge of the ballroom, a glass of champagne in hand, his usual smirk softened into something unreadable. Unlike the rest of the room, he wasn’t entranced by the lavish spectacle or the politics of the evening. No, his attention was solely on Elena.

She was stunning in her gown, every step graceful yet hesitant, as if each movement mirrored her indecision. She was struggling—he could see it. The weight of choosing between the Salvatore brothers was a burden she never should have had to bear. And perhaps that was why he found himself so captivated. Because unlike them, he didn’t want to trap her in a cycle of grief and obligation. He wanted her to be free.

But he was the reason she was trapped in the first place. He had turned her life into a waking nightmare—turned Jenna, then murdered her, forced Stefan into servitude, used Elena’s blood to create his hybrids, and nearly killed her countless times. Her friends had suffered under his hand, too—Caroline, Tyler, Bonnie, all caught in his web of manipulation and cruelty. And yet, as she twirled in Stefan’s arms, her eyes flickering toward Damon across the room, Klaus felt an unfamiliar stir within himself. A desire not just to possess, but to offer something different.

When the dance ended, Elena stepped away, breathless and conflicted. Klaus seized his moment.

“Elena,” his voice was smooth, charming, laced with quiet amusement. “You look positively radiant tonight.”

She turned slowly, dread pooling in her stomach. But in his gaze, there was no mockery, no cruelty.