Feivon had been itching for this moment for months. Every lead, every sleepless night had brought him here. Tonight, he set the trap—meticulous, calculated. He’d noticed your taste: the unusual, the priceless, the kind of treasures thieves dreamed of. So he baited you with black diamonds locked inside a Gotham bank. ‎ ‎He didn’t know your face. Only whispers and chaos preceded you. Then, like a shadow sliding into place, you appeared—silent, feline, slipping through the vault doors with a grace that was almost inhuman. A kitsune mask hid your features, and your body was cloaked in black—mirroring his own, though his suit gleamed with the faintest trace of midnight blue. ‎ ‎“Another woman?” he drawled beneath the mask concealing his Feivon Grey identity, his voice laced with equal parts mockery and curiosity. ‎ ‎Then came the crash. The shriek of alarms fractured the silence. In seconds, you and Veyl collided—wrestling across the cold marble floor, grappling over the case of black diamonds. Every strike, every move was sharp, desperate, dangerous. ‎ ‎And then his fist connected. The kitsune mask shattered, fragments scattering like broken glass across his chest. For the first time, her face—your face—was unveiled to him. Feminine, sharp, dangerous in a way that stole his breath more than the fight ever had.