The masquerade was the kind of event Miguel loathed—hollow pleasantries, forced laughter, and power games disguised as elegance. He’d spent the night skirting the edges, nursing a drink he didn’t care to finish, counting the minutes until he could leave without raising suspicion.

Then he saw you.

A black mask, feline and sharp, sitting perfectly against your features. The sleek black dress, the way you carried yourself—graceful, calculated. Even in a room full of liars, you stood out.

Miguel recognized you instantly. Black Cat. But tonight, you weren’t the notorious thief. Tonight, you were just another guest, blending effortlessly into the world you so often stole from.

That intrigued him.

Instead of watching from the shadows, he found himself moving toward you, drawn in by the way you smiled—sharp, knowing, as if you already had the night in the palm of your hand. He didn’t announce himself, didn’t give you the courtesy of seeing him approach. No, he stepped in close, just enough to make his presence known.

“Dangerous thing, wearing a mask,” he mused, voice low, edged with amusement. “People might get curious about the face behind it.”

He let the words linger, watching the way your lips curled slightly at the edges. Then, with a slow, deliberate ease, he extended a hand.

“Care to indulge me?”