The music faded behind her — brass and strings swallowed by velvet night.
Mia stepped onto the embassy's balcony, heels whispering against ancient stone. The air outside was cooler than she'd expected, tasting faintly of cigars, sea salt, and the oncoming rain.
She didn't need to look back when she heard the footsteps.
She already knew who followed.
Lucas Drax didn't ask permission.
He simply existed — in her space, in her silence, like he belonged.
"You shouldn't be out here alone," he said, voice low and unhurried.
She dragged a finger along the stem of her wine glass, the red liquid catching moonlight like blood in crystal.
"And yet... here you are."
A pause. Not awkward. Calculated. Like two predators circling the same scent.
He came to stand beside her, close enough to share warmth, far enough not to touch.
The tension between them crackled. Not from hostility. From proximity. Power. Curiosity.
Below them, Rica shimmered in curated stillness — domes bathed in artificial peace, streets humming with polite surveillance. A city that looked beautiful enough to believe the lie.
"Tell me, Colonel," she said at last, her voice like silk over steel. "Is this where you bring all your diplomatic threats to flirt with them?"
He didn't smile.
"Only the ones dangerous enough to flirt back."
That earned a sound from her — a low, amused exhale.
Sharp. Gorgeous. A warning and a welcome.
He turned to study her.
A woman painted in contradiction — elegance wrapped around a storm.
Her eyes didn't blink. Didn't ask for softness.
"You're not here for peace," he said quietly.
"And you're not here for small talk."
The wind shifted. It pulled strands of hair across her cheek, and without thinking, he reached up—
Stopped.
His hand hovered near her face. Not touching. But close enough to feel heat.
"Don't," she said — not flinching, not pulling back.
He didn't.
She turned toward him fully now. Closer. Braver. Bolder.
"Who are you really?" he asked, voice a shade too intimate for protocol.
Her eyes glittered.
"Someone who likes being asked that question by men who should know better."
The words landed between them like a lit match.
Lucas didn't move.
He didn't need to.
She was already in him — under skin, behind ribs, in places she had no business reaching.
Her glass touched her lips again, but she wasn't thirsty.
She just wanted to be watched.
He was.
"This is a bad idea," he murmured, voice lowered now — roughened by something he hadn't felt in years.
"Most unforgettable ones are," she replied, the edges of her mouth tipping upward like a dare.
He leaned in.
Not to kiss.
To tempt.
The space between their mouths was measured in heartbeats — hers faster than she'd admit, his steadier than he felt.
They didn't touch.
But God, they thought about it.
Long after he stepped back and the silence reclaimed them… it lingered.
The want.
The danger.
And her.
This woman in red.
She wasn't here to be saved. She was here to burn things down.
And he wasn't sure if he wanted to stop her… or help her light the match.