The gala was all velvet shadows, champagne bubbles, and dangerous whispers. You were draped in a sleek maroon satin gown, slit high up your thigh and backless just enough to tease.

Tim stood tall beside you, a classic black suit hugging his broad shoulders, crisp white shirt open at the collar—just enough to draw attention. His hand rested low on your waist like it had every right to be there, his body close, his scent distracting.

The mission was simple: keep eyes on a key suspect mingling with L.A.’s elite. But nothing ever stayed simple.

You didn’t see him at first.

And then you turned.

Your ex.

Standing there in a sharp suit, drink in hand, like he belonged in this world of silk and secrets. Just a ghost from your past walking straight into your cover. Looking way too happy to see you.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered.

“Friend of yours?” Tim asked smoothly, though his tone carried an edge only you would catch.

“Not exactly.” You didn’t want to explain. Not now.

But your ex was already approaching. He didn’t even glance at Tim. “Wow. You look...stunning. Didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

Tim didn’t let go of your waist.

You could feel the tension pulsing off him, quiet and deadly. He didn’t say a word—but the possessiveness in his stance said plenty. Still, he let you handle it.

“For work,” you said coolly, trying to keep the air casual.

“Oh? That what he is?” your ex nodded at Tim, clearly underestimating him. “Work?”