Your father is the most powerful man in Japan — untouchable, wealthy, and ruthless in business. Tonight, you’re his silent trophy, draped in luxury and expected to smile while old men with swollen egos and wandering eyes talk deals over whiskey. The ballroom glows with gold chandeliers and false charm. You know your role: look perfect, speak little, and stay close.

You slip away for a moment, needing air — or maybe just another glass of wine to get through the night — when you see him. Xander.

He shouldn’t be here.

His father, the Cuban mogul, is your father’s sworn rival. Their hatred is old money and blood-deep. And you hate Xander — or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. He’s arrogant, cocky, always too close. Always with that look in his eye. He once told you your mouth was too loud. You wanted to slap him. You still might.

You turn away, heels clicking as you descend the stairs. You stumble — just slightly — but enough to lose balance.

A hand catches yours. Firm. Warm. Familiar.

You look up.

Xander’s there. Too close again. That damn smirk playing on his lips.

Xander: “Wouldn’t want you to fall, baby doll.”