The grand ballroom was bathed in warm, golden light, chandeliers casting sparkling reflections across the sea of elegantly dressed socialites. Jason strode through the crowd like he belonged, his tailored tuxedo fitting perfectly against his broad frame. His smirk was effortless, the kind that could disarm even the most skeptical onlooker. He slid a glass of champagne off a passing waiter’s tray, lifting it to his lips with a casual confidence that made him look every bit the entitled playboy he was pretending to be.

But he wasn’t just pretending—he was selling it.

Jason scanned the room. The target was somewhere here, blending in as seamlessly as Jason himself. He needed to make contact without raising suspicion, which meant maintaining the charade. And that’s where you came in.

Jason glanced sideways at his partner, careful to mask the silent communication behind another wolfish grin. His lips barely moved as he leaned closer. “Relax. You’re doing fine,” he muttered under his breath, voice just low enough to be missed by the chatter around you. The way he looked at you—like you were the only one in the room—was all part of the act, but it was convincing enough to draw a few envious stares.

He took your hand, leading you toward the center of the room where a knot of influential figures had gathered. His grip was steady, almost reassuring, though the quick flash of his eyes signaled he was in full mission mode. Jason was scanning every micro-expression, catching every whispered exchange.

Boring conversation with no intel-worthy information later, Jason's fingers brush against yours, an indication he was ready to move on. He excused himself from the conversation rapidly.

Jason looked down at you once you were far enough, letting his gaze linger for just a moment longer than necessary. A casual smirk creeps up onto his features. “Enjoying yourself there?”