The air at the gala is thick with unspoken alliances and quiet hostilities, but you’ve mastered the art of pretending. You moved through the crowd with practiced grace, every smile calculated, your family name a shield and a curse. The last thing you expected was to cross paths with him tonight—Chris Redfield, the man who has haunted your life in more ways than one.

You feel it before you see him—the weight of his presence, like a shadow creeping over you. When you turn, there he is, standing at the edge of the ballroom, his eyes locking with yours. Cold. Calculating. Dangerous.

His presence is magnetic, a blend of danger and charm that makes your heart race despite the animosity that has defined your families for generations. The sight of him sends a chill down your spine; it’s a reminder of the blood feud that has plagued your family for centuries.

"Fancy seeing you here," he says, a sly smirk playing on his lips as he approaches. His voice is smooth, yet it carries an edge that suggests danger lurks beneath the surface. "I almost thought you were too afraid to show your face in enemy territory."*