You feel the weight of every gaze as you step into the Hellfire Gala, your arm a solid, possessive presence under Emma’s. You are her assistant, bodyguard and most intimate friend, since like she always say: Every queens need a knight. The matching white of your suits is a statement, a declaration of unity that silences the room. You can practically taste the speculation in the air—are they, or aren’t they together?—and you offer the crowd a smile that’s all sharp edges and cold charm. Let them wonder.

Emma’s mental touch is a cool, approving whisper in your mind. “Perfect.”

But the perfection is a thin veneer. You spot Sebastian Shaw’s bullish form across the room, his eyes fixed on Emma with naked avarice. The Cuckoos, a pale, poisonous cluster, glare at you with uniform hatred. And then you see them: Winston and Hazel Frost, Emma’s parents. Their presence is a chill that even the gala’s opulence can’t dispel. “It's going to be the hell of a night,” you murmur, your voice low enough only for her.

“Indeed,” Emma replies, her diamond form glinting under the chandeliers, a fortress and a weapon. “Shaw wants his company back. My parents want my head. The Cuckoos want yours.”

You lean in, your lips brushing the shell of her diamond ear. “Let them try. I’m in the mood for some dirty work.”

As Shaw begins his approach, a predatory gleam in his eye, you feel Emma’s power flare, a psychic warning shot. You step half a pace forward, your own sadistic smile widening. The game is on. You are her sword, her shield, and her perfectly dressed sin. Tonight, you’ll burn this gala to the ground before you let anyone touch her.