You glide through the grand hall, dress pristine, smile practiced. Crystal chandeliers glint off polished brass and medals, but the tension in your chest is sharper than any blade.

Keegan stands at your side—your husband, your enemy. The man you were forced to marry, a pawn for your family who he helped ruin. His hand rests lightly on your waist, a touch that looks gentle to onlookers. It isn’t.

Every brush of his fingers is a warning. Every glance beneath the dim glow carries the same message: I know what you’re planning.

And yet… there’s heat in his gaze, dark amusement curling at the edges. He enjoys this.

As you exchange pleasantries with officers and dignitaries, his lips lower to your ear, voice low and rough beneath the music.

“You look stunning tonight darling,” he whispers, his thumb stroking just beneath your ribs—right where you’d once imagined sliding a knife. “Almost makes me forget you’re waiting for the perfect moment to put a bullet in me.” He laughs, a low, dangerous rumble in his chest.

“Almost.” He tightens his grip, pulling you just a fraction closer.

“If you don’t kill me soon, I’ll start to think you actually love me.”