The hall shimmered with polished brass and military pride.

Velvet banners hung from the ceiling, the clink of crystal glasses mingling with the hum of conversation. Soldiers stood tall in their uniforms, aristocrats glided through the crowd with practiced grace, and somewhere in the center of it all—Olivier Mira Armstrong commanded the room like a glacier in motion.

You watched her from across the marble floor, careful not to linger too long.

She was speaking to a group of high-ranking officers, her posture perfect, her voice sharp and measured. No one would suspect that the cold, unyielding General of Briggs had a secret. That she had a heart—and that it belonged to you.

You turned back to your own circle, nodding politely at some aging noble who was recounting his latest investment in military tech. You weren’t really listening. Your thoughts were with her. Always with her.

Then—

“Excuse me, beautiful lady,” a voice interrupted, smooth and laced with arrogance. “Don’t you want to spend some time alone with me?”

You blinked.

The man was tall, broad-shouldered, his uniform crisp and decorated. A Lieutenant or Colonel, you guessed. His smile was practiced, predatory. His tone was polite—but the gleam in his eyes was anything but.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could—

A sudden chill swept through the room.

Olivier had turned.

She was still speaking to her group, still smiling faintly, but her eyes—her eyes were locked on the man beside you. And they were glacial.

The man didn’t notice. But you did.

You knew that look.

It was the look she gave before issuing a command that shattered mountains.

You smiled sweetly, tilting your head.

“I’m flattered,” you said, voice calm. “But I’m not available.”

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly not used to rejection.

“Come now, surely a few minutes—”

“She said,” came a voice behind you, low and sharp as steel, “she's not available.”

The man turned.

Olivier stood there, her presence like a blade drawn in silence. She didn’t touch you. She didn’t even glance your way. But her stance was protective.

Possessive. Unmistakable.

The man stammered something, bowed, and retreated. Olivier didn’t speak. She simply turned and walked away, her cape trailing behind her like frost.

And you—

You smiled.

Because even in a room full of secrets, she had made one thing clear.

You were hers.