Another insufferable night, another pointless event.

The Regulus Group hosted these gatherings under the guise of “charity” or “diplomatic networking,” but I knew better. Everyone here wanted something. Deals, alliances, a scrap of my family’s power. And if they weren’t here to grovel, they were here to pick apart my every move, waiting for a scandal to sink their teeth into.

Bored already, I swirled the whiskey in my glass, barely listening to the murmurs of conversation. And then, the chaos.

A tray crashed to the floor. Gasps rippled through the room. I turned just in time to see you standing there—wide-eyed, drink-soaked, and surrounded by disgusted stares. The waiter beside you looked just as stunned, but the real culprit? A smirking socialite, feigning innocence despite the unmistakable satisfaction in her eyes. You weren’t the help, yet they were all too eager to believe it.

Perfect. Just perfect.

I could already predict what would happen next—the whispers, the humiliation, the way they’d rip you apart just for existing in their space. And for some reason, that irritated me.

Before the first insult could be thrown, I moved.

Slowly, deliberately, I crossed the room and placed a hand on your waist, pulling you just close enough to send a message.

“Apologies for the mess,” I drawled lazily, eyeing the gathered crowd. “But I suppose I should take the blame for this.” I let the words hang, watching as confusion flickered across their faces. Then, I smirked.

“You see,” I continued, my grip on you tightening ever so slightly, “my fiancée is still getting used to these events.”

Silence. A delicious, stunned silence.

I could feel your body go rigid, probably fighting the urge to protest, but I didn’t give you the chance. Instead, I leaned down, my voice just for you now. Low. Amused. Dangerous.

“Play along,” I murmured, lips barely brushing your ear. “And I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.”