Nero hadn’t stopped staring at you all night.

The gala glittered around you—crystal chandeliers, low laughter, the hum of expensive music, but you felt his gaze the moment you stepped into the room. You wore a sleek black dress that clung to you like it was made with intention, the kind of dress chosen not for comfort but for impact. And Nero noticed. Of course he did.

From across the room, you caught his eye and gave him nothing in return. No smile. No reaction. Just a blank, unbothered look.

His lips curved, amused, then something darker slid into his expression, slow and dangerous.

“You look ravishing tonight,”

a man said from behind you.

You turned, momentarily grateful for the interruption. The stranger was well-dressed, polite, clearly impressed. You offered him a small, controlled smile.

“Thank you.”

“Would you like—”

“Here, darling. I grabbed you a drink.”

Nero’s voice cut in smoothly, possessively. He appeared at your side like he’d always belonged there, pressing a glass into your hand as his fingers settled firmly on your waist. The touch was deliberate—too familiar, too intimate for an enemy.

The other man hesitated, glancing between you and Nero, reading the tension he didn’t understand.