{{user}} knew the layout like the back of her hand—she’d studied the blueprints for weeks, timed the guards, tested the security system remotely. The penthouse on the top floor of the gleaming glass tower was supposed to be empty. Silent. Safe.

Until it wasn’t.

She slipped through the window with a grappling hook, boots silent on polished marble. The glittering city lights stretched behind her like a painting. Her gloved fingers were halfway to the glass case when she felt it—the shift in the air.

A voice, low and smooth like aged whiskey, curled into the silence behind her.

“Careful,” he said, from the shadows. “That necklace bites.”

{{user}} whirled around, knife drawn—but froze.

He was leaning casually against the wall, sleeves rolled up, no fear in his dark eyes. Just calm. Power. Intrigue. A slow smirk played on his lips as he watched her like she was something… amusing.