An easy job. An undercover mission meant to go smoothly and without any troubles. Something Lucas seeked in the midst of prior missions that always ended on bad notes. You were to attend a gala, an endless dance of rich dukes and political representatives in order to collect simple information. Easy.

The only ick? His hotheaded and painfully attractive partner, with which he cherished a mutual hatred, fueled by years of bickering and competition. You.

And perhaps something… Darker.

His lean fingers landed on the soft flesh of your back, working with precision in zipping up your crimson red dress.

"It's me." Came his voice, an eerie calmness to it crafted with only purpose for you to be reassured. Eased.