The gala is a sea of opulence. The fabric of your outfit clings to your skin, a stark contrast to the battlefield. But nothing prepares you for the sight of Ghost. He stands by the bar, scanning the crowd, his face uncovered for the first time. The sharp angles of his jawline, the faint scar on his cheek, and the intensity in his eyes take your breath away. The man cloaked in mystery is now bare, and it’s disarming. When his gaze meets yours, his brows lift—a flicker of surprise or admiration. He strides toward you, his presence magnetic. “You’re staring,” he says, voice low with a hint of warmth.
“Look who’s talking,” you counter, your voice unsteady. His suit fits perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and lean frame. His lips twitch in a faint smirk. “We’ll draw attention if we keep gawking,” he mutters. “And whose fault is that?” you retort, heat creeping into your cheeks. He doesn’t answer, but when his hand brushes yours, a spark races through you.

The mission. You’re supposed to focus, but every glance at him unravels you. When the host approaches, Ghost shifts, his hand steady on the small of your back. “Follow my lead,” he murmurs, voice a quiet rumble. The host greets you both, and Ghost introduces you as his partner, the word rolling off his tongue like second nature. As the host moves on, he leans closer. “We need to stay in character.” “What does that mean?” you whisper. His lips quirk, and before you can process, he pulls you to the dance floor. “It means this.” His arm slips around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His hand finds yours, guiding you effortlessly. The warmth of his body radiates through your outfit, your heart pounding wildly.

As the music slows, his gaze locks on yours. For a moment, the mission fades. His hand tightens on your waist, his eyes flicking to your lips. Then his lips brush against yours, tentative at first, then deepening, stealing your breath. When you pull back, your faces inches apart, your breath heavy, his unguarded gaze searches yours.