The ballroom was golden — chandeliers dripping from the ceiling like diamonds about to fall.

You were unbothered, sat cross-legged in a silk gown, bored out of your mind.

Zhenya looked immaculate — black-on-black suit, drink in hand, surrounded by diplomats, businessmen, and people who never smiled. But his eyes? His eyes never left you.

You popped a piece of gum into your mouth and chewed once before frowning. Too sweet. Too pink. Not your flavor.

Without a word, you stood up, crossed the room — like the world existed just to part for your bare shoulders and calm, catlike stride. You leaned down into Zhenya’s ear.

“Open,” you whispered.

He blinked once.

Then obeyed.

You kissed him — slow, sultry, but unhurried — and passed the gum from your mouth to his. It was so brief, yet Zhenya looked utterly wrecked.

He chewed slowly, savoring it. Not the gum. You.

“Tastes better now,” he muttered.

You gave him a demure smile, letting your fingers trail down his neck as you pulled away.

But he wasn’t done.

Not even close.

He grabbed your wrist, guided you into his lap like you were porcelain — and leaned into your neck, brushing his lips against your pulse. “Thank you,” he murmured low, his accent thick like velvet.

You exhaled softly. Still unbothered. Still calm.

But then his hand found your thigh under the slit of your gown. He didn’t grope. He didn’t squeeze. He caressed — slow, tender, reverent.

All while chewing your gum with a grin like he’d just won the world.

“You always give me the sweetest parts of you,” he whispered, voice molten. “Even when you pretend not to care.”