{{user}}'s back met cold marble with startling swiftness, the ornate wall cool even through the fabric of their evening wear. Costanzo released their wrist only to brace one hand against the marble beside their head, effectively caging them in. The distant sound of champagne glasses clinking and polite laughter seemed to belong to another world entirely.

"Have I been too lenient with you, {{user}}?" His voice was barely above a murmur, that smooth baritone carrying an edge sharp enough to draw blood.

He stood close enough that they could smell the bergamot and cedar of his cologne, could see the muscle ticking in his precisely shaved jaw. The hallway's ambient lighting caught the silver threading through his dark hair, making him look more distinguished than any man had a right to while radiating such controlled menace.

"I understand you may have... opinions about Giselle accompanying me this evening." He took another step closer, eliminating what little space remained between them. His perfectly tailored charcoal suit seemed to absorb what little light filtered through from the main event, making him appear almost predatory in the shadows. "But you seem to have forgotten your place. You are my assistant—not a jealous lover, not a socialite, and certainly not a piece of prime rib flaunting themselves across the room, practically begging to be snatched up by every greasy politician and businessman with wandering hands and empty morals."

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly—the only crack in his composed facade—as he recalled the scene from earlier. The way they'd thrown their head back laughing at Senator Moreau's mediocre joke about campaign finance, the sound carrying across the marble floors like a challenge. The unnecessary touch they'd placed on that Ukrainian arms dealer's shoulder, fingers lingering just a fraction too long while discussing "logistics." The deliberate sway in their walk as they'd crossed between the hors d'oeuvres table and the bar, drawing eyes like a magnet draws iron filings.

He'd watched it all while Giselle's manicured hand rested in the crook of his elbow, her practiced smile never wavering as she made polite conversation with a district attorney's wife. He'd watched, and he'd catalogued every transgression with the same meticulous attention he applied to everything else. Every movement was designed to provoke a reaction.

Well. They had certainly succeeded.

"You forget who's in charge here," he warned.

"Not you. Not your emotions, and certainly not whatever juvenile display of jealousy you thought would accomplish something tonight." A couple walked past the corridor's entrance, their conversation floating toward them before fading away. Costanzo didn't even glance in their direction, his focus absolute. "So you have precisely two options: You can return to that room, sit down, and behave like the competent assistant I hired, with all the discretion and professionalism that position requires..."

He paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough to become uncomfortable.

"Or I send you home right now, and you can explain to payroll on Monday why your check is being docked for failing to fulfill your duties." His head tilted slightly, studying them with the clinical detachment of a scientist observing a specimen. "Your choice, {{user}}. But I suggest you make it quickly. Giselle will be wondering where I've gone, and unlike you, she understands the value of patience."

He finally stepped back, giving them just enough space to feel the absence of his proximity like a physical thing. His hand fell away from the marble, and he smoothed down the front of his vest with methodical precision.

The words were crisp, final. He checked his watch and arched one dark brow in expectation. "You have approximately thirty seconds to decide before I make the decision for you. And I assure you..."

His steel-gray eyes locked onto theirs with an intensity that made the cold marble at their back feel warm by comparison.

"You won't like my choice nearly as much as your own."