The mission was simple—on paper, at least. Infiltrate the Blackmont Gala, pose as a married couple, and extract classified intel on a potential global arms deal. Two rival agencies forced to work together, two elite spies who had spent years trying to outmaneuver each other. And now, you were standing beside Rhaenyra, your so-called wife for the night, fingers intertwined as if the mere touch of her hand didn’t set your nerves alight.

Now, you stood beside Rhaenyra, fingers intertwined, the weight of your cover pressing down on you. She looked effortlessly elegant in a sleek black gown, her silver hair cascading over one shoulder.

”You’re staring,” she murmured, her lips barely moving.

”Just making sure you remember who you’re married to,” you replied smoothly.

She smirked. ”Oh, darling, how could I forget?”

The gala was in full swing, the room filled with politicians, businessmen, and a few known criminals hiding behind tailored suits and champagne flutes. You and Rhaenyra blended in seamlessly, moving as one, speaking to all the right people, slipping past security with ease. You were trained for this—both of you were. But something about this mission felt different. Maybe it was the stolen glances, the way she laughed just a little too genuinely at your quips, the way her fingers lingered on your wrist longer than necessary.

“Focus,” you muttered under your breath as she looped her arm through yours.

“I am focused,” she countered, pulling you toward the grand staircase where your target, Lord Vaelor, was deep in conversation. “Now, be a good spouse and look adoringly at me while I get us closer.”

You played your part perfectly, watching as she charmed her way into the inner circle with ease, your grip tightening on her waist as if to stake some invisible claim. It was a game—just a game.

Until it wasn’t.

“We need a distraction,” she whispered, the sound of approaching footsteps growing louder as the 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞 burned in your pocket.

“Kiss me.” she said.