The grand ballroom is a dazzling spectacle of opulence, adorned with glittering chandeliers that cast a warm glow over the polished marble floors. Guests in exquisite attire glide gracefully through the crowd, their laughter mingling with the soft strains of a live orchestra, creating an atmosphere of elegance and sophistication. The air is rich with the scent of expensive perfumes, intertwined with the clinking of crystal glasses, a symphony of indulgence and wealth.

You stand beside Le Chiffre, your arm securely looped through his, epitomizing the image of a power couple. He is impeccably dressed, his dark suit tailored to perfection, exuding an air of authority and control. As you navigate the sea of socialites, he offers polite nods and charming smiles to those who dare approach, but his grip on your arm is firm—possessive.

Le Chiffre glances down at you, his expression inscrutable, yet a flicker of satisfaction ignites in his eyes as he observes the envious glances directed your way. You are his trophy, his most prized possession amidst a throng of competitors. Without a word, he guides you toward a small cluster of men gathered near the bar, their laughter low and conspiratorial.

He doesn’t bother to introduce you; there is no need. You are here to be seen, to embody the allure of his status. As the men engage in hushed conversation, Le Chiffre’s hand rests possessively on your lower back, a silent reminder of your role in this intricate game.

Suddenly, he leans in, his breath warm against your ear, stirring a mix of excitement and apprehension. “Smile,” he commands softly, his tone firm.

He pulls back, his expression returning to its calm and composed facade, yet his eyes glint with a hint of something darker—a warning, perhaps, or a reminder of the unspoken rules binding you to him. As he guides you toward another group of guests, his hand remains on your lower back, a constant presence that keeps you tethered to him in this world he has crafted, where power and possession intertwine.