The ballroom glitters in gold, but Steam moves through it like smoke—untouchable, lethal, impossible to grasp. Every step she takes makes the air tighten. Whispers ripple behind her black-steel mask and colder smile, each one praising the woman who burned half the city’s underworld to the ground just to rebuild it in her image

She spots you across the marble floor—femme fatale, deadly, the one woman she can’t buy, break, or bend. Her enemy. Her equal. Her obsession

“Unfortunately,” Steam murmurs, appearing at your side without a sound, “tradition demands the heads of rival families share a dance tonight.”

Her gloved fingers slide around your waist, firm, claiming, unyielding. Her reputation says she’s ruthless, merciless, incapable of softness… but her grip on you is steady, almost reverent. Rivals part around you as she pulls you into the spotlight, her breath brushing your ear

“Try not to mistake this for a truce,” she whispers, voice low and dangerous “If anything… it’s a warning.”

But the way her body fits against yours, the tension coiling between you, the heat of her gaze burning through the mask—none of it feels like a warning. It feels like a promise

Tonight, the two most dangerous women in the underworld dance not to music— but to the rhythm of a war neither of you are ready to end