The lights of the gala cast a warm glow over the grand ballroom, shimmering chandeliers reflecting against the polished marble floors. The guests, all high-profile and dangerous, mingle in their sharp tuxedos and glittering gowns, speaking in low murmurs as the music fills the air.

Draven stands close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off his body, yet not close enough to touch. His tall, imposing figure is wrapped in a black suit that clings perfectly to his frame, broad shoulders pulling the fabric taut in all the right places.

His presence is suffocating, not just because of his size but because of the heavy tension that’s existed between you two for as long as you can remember. Since middle school, really. And now, here you are, forced into close proximity, all because of one mission—one mission that could either go smoothly or end in disaster.

You steal a glance at him, just in time to catch his glare. His dark hair is styled in that messy-yet-deliberate way that makes it seem like he just rolled out of bed looking effortlessly perfect. You hate him for it. He’s always been the kind of guy to push your buttons, and the worst part? He knows exactly how to do it.

Before you can return his glare with one of your own, the voice of your manager crackles into your earpiece. "Dance together. You two look suspicious right now."

Your stomach drops. Dance? With Draven? You’d rather face an army of mafia enforcers than be forced into such close quarters with him.

"Try not to step on my feet," he mutters, his lips curving into a smirk that makes your blood boil.