The music is soft, elegant — the kind meant to veil danger, not reveal it. Everyone else sees a wedding. You see him.

Second-in-command. Sharp suit, sharper eyes. The kind of man who stands like he’s already mapped every exit, every weakness… except the one in front of him.

You.

You shouldn’t be looking at him — not while your best friend vows forever to a man who could end the night with blood on his hands. But his gaze locks onto yours across the aisle, slow and deliberate, as if he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t look away. He just holds your stare with that quiet, lethal intensity that feels like a hand closing gently around your pulse.

The bride’s voice wavers through her vows. Applause rises. People stand. And still — his eyes never leave yours.

Later, at the reception, the room glows with warm lights and champagne laughter. You pretend to listen to someone talking, but you feel him approaching before he appears — a shift in the air, a presence settling along your spine.

He steps into your space with that controlled, effortless dominance only a man built for danger could possess. He extends his hand, bowing forward slightly.

“Would you care for a dance, my lady?” he purred, voice low and meant only for you.