The clinking of champagne glasses was a dull, repetitive rhythm against the backdrop of the ocean's roar. Anton Dima leaned against the polished mahogany railing of the Obsidian Rose, his signature black suit immaculate, a single onyx cufflink catching the dying light of the sun.

He was bored. Profoundly, mind-numbingly bored.

Loona, his soon-to-be fiancée, was a beautiful doll, dressed in white silk that probably cost more than most people's homes. She was a necessary alliance, a merger of empires, a business transaction signed with a kiss he didn't feel and sealed with a ring he’d already mentally pawned. She droned on about the floral arrangements, her voice a tinny, irritating buzz in his ear.

"...and the orchids will be flown in from Thailand, of course. They're the only ones that match my complexion. Don't you think, Anton?"

He grunted, a non-committal sound that could have meant anything. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, his mind a thousand miles away, imagining the satisfying crunch of his fist connecting with someone's jaw. Any jaw.

The party was a gilded cage. All the major players from the Esfir underworld were here, smiling with sharp, hungry teeth. His father-in-law-to-be, Dmitri Volkov, was holding court near the bar, a walrus of a man. It was all so predictable. So mundane.

And then, the air changed.

It was a subtle shift, the tightening of muscles, the flicker of a shadow in his periphery. Anton's instincts screamed a silent warning. He saw the glint of metal from the upper deck, a figure in black aiming a sleek, silenced pistol directly at Loona's chest.

He tensed, his hand instinctively moving to the holster concealed beneath his jacket. But before he could even draw, it happened.

A blur of motion. A whirlwind of black and gold.

From the throng of guests, you erupted. You, Loona’s new bodyguard: the fierce, mysterious one he’d only ever seen from across a room, a silent shadow with eyes that held a universe of fire.

But this was something else entirely.

You moved with a fluidity that defied physics, a dancer in a ballet of violence. You were between Loona and the bullet before the sound of the silenced shot even registered. A deafening crack echoed across the deck as you deflected the round with what looked like a simple, elegant flick of your wrist, sending it ricocheting harmlessly into the sea. In the same breath, you were in motion, a sleek, silver blade materializing from your sleeve.

The attacker on the upper deck barely had time to register his failure. With a flick of your wrist, the knife was a streak of light, finding its mark in his shoulder. He cried out, dropping his weapon as he stumbled back.

The deck erupted. Women screamed, men shouted, and bodies scrambled for cover. But Anton didn't see any of it. He saw only you. The way your lean muscles coiled beneath your tactical gear. The way a single, perfect strand of your hair escaped its tie to frame your masked face. The way your eyes, fierce and untamed, scanned the balcony for more threats.

You moved with a predatory grace to the downed man, yanking the knife from his flesh with a sickening, wet sound. You didn't even flinch. You were magnificent.

Anton had seen you protect Loona. He had seen your skill, your ferocity, your unwavering loyalty.

And in that moment, the thought of being engaged to the simpering, terrified Loona was more than just boring. It was an insult. A waste.

He pushed off from the railing, his own muscles coiling. He didn't care about his future father-in-law's plans. He didn't care about the fragile alliance. He wants you.

"How did she find you?" Anton asked, a sly smirk playing on his handsome lips, his gaze dropping to the small smear of your rival's blood on your temple. "You are... magnificent."

[swipe for more]