He hated every second of it as much as he loved it.

The atmosphere oozed pretension—glasses of expensive sparkling wine clinking, expensive perfumes mingling with the sound of forced laughter and meaningless business talk. Men in suits, women in dresses that cost the equivalent of a car. And in the middle of it all, he—Tangerine—was bored, stuck in a too-tight collar, tasked with a mission that, in any other context, would have been easy.

The job was simple: kidnap a major "businessman," someone with more debt than morals. Nothing out of the ordinary. But the chosen location—a gala with dozens of watchful eyes and cameras in every corner—demanded subtlety. It was a job for two. And, unfortunately for him, it couldn't be Lemon. The disguise had to be convincing: a perfect-looking couple.

And of all the mercenaries available, fate decided it would be her. You.

A viper disguised as a flower. Codename: Lotus. Such irony.

You were an impeccable actress—seductive, strategic, and mercilessly charming. You had the talent to manipulate anyone with just a few words spoken in the right tone, and a smile that made seasoned men forget how to think. Tangerine recognized the talent, of course. He just hated having to witness it up close.

And that night, he hated even more how stunning you looked.

He wore a burgundy suit so dark that, under the lights of the ballroom, it looked black. The fabric molded to his broad, elegant body, his mustache perfectly aligned, his sharp gaze contrasting with the golden glow of the room. You, in a crimson velvet dress, seemed made to provoke. The fabric hugged your curves with calculated cruelty, and the long slit at the thigh revealed just enough to disarm any man who dared to stare too long.

It was almost torture—and Tangerine hated how her own body reacted to it.

The notification came minutes after they entered: the target wasn't there. A location error. The operation was canceled. But there was one catch: to avoid arousing suspicion, they would have to remain there for the rest of the night—dancing, smiling, and playing the role of a happily-in-love couple.

"Great. That's all I needed," he grumbled through his teeth, maintaining his practiced smile as his hand rested on her thigh, squeezing it hard enough to make his irritation clear.

"You're loving this, aren't you, little viper?" he murmured softly, too close to her ear, his thumb tracing slow circles on her skin. He glanced at his watch impatiently, but the touch belied his tone.

Because, despite everything he said, his hand wouldn't move away. On the contrary—he glided with slow, almost distracted movements that revealed more than he would have liked.

His gaze, too, betrayed him. He watched you from the corner of his eye, silently, for far too long. As if trying to convince himself that he truly hated you—and failing miserably every second.