(Viuna). His hot breath scorched the curve of my ear; his cool scent coiled in my nostrils.
I swallowed hard. I'd come here knowing Ashur would probably be at this party—knowing the Triangle Union would be here too.
I'd walked straight into the lion's den. No safe corners.
The Rose organisation, through Ashur, wanted me arrested—and likely punished—because I'd left and refused to obey. I'd betrayed them.
And the Triangle Union? I'd infiltrated their ranks, killed more than a few of their people, and freed their biggest prize: Ashur.
They've definitely put a price on my head—millions, probably—and if that bastard doctor is here, he'll mark me for death the second he clocks me.
And now… Ashur is here. Right behind me. His hand on the small of my back, a viper waiting to strike—waiting for me to make one wrong move.
Why was I this nervous? Why were my palms slick and my body frozen?
I knew all this. I'd run every scenario. So why was I hesitating like a novice to turn and face him?
I clenched my teeth and drew a deep breath to steady myself.
Slowly, I turned on my heel. With his hand on my back, the turn set me fully against him; unhurried, almost gentle, he placed his other hand there too. My breath snagged.
I stared, stunned. The room felt colder by the second. Half his face was hidden by a matte-black mask; like me, he wore grey contacts. His tattoo was covered with make-up, and I knew the short brown hair was a wig.
In that suit and those black leather gloves… dangerously handsome.
I held his gaze, smirked, and rasped, "I wore my heels too."
In our last conversation, we'd threatened war. Now the war had arrived.
He had his suit. I had my heels. And even though my dress wasn't black, there was still time till midnight.
He smirked, eyes locked on mine.
If he hadn't stepped in and spoken, I might never have known it was him. How had he recognised me?
I asked aloud, still pressed chest-to-chest with him.
"I'm curious—how did you clock me? I thought I'd changed enough."
His face was calm—serene, even. His gaze skimmed over me and, with his hand pressed into the small of my back, he bent to my ear and murmured,
"I always recognise my enemy."
My heart dropped. I'd guessed right: he had orders to take me in—maybe worse, to kill me.
The stack of bodies he'd left in that lab flashed through my mind. My chest trembled.
Could I beat him if it came to a fight?
He kept his mouth near my ear, voice soft, almost playful:
"I see you walked yourself into my web—like a tiny little insect."
I gave a light laugh to tame my pulse. His hot breath burned my ear. The problem? It felt like all of me was on fire.
I bared my teeth in a smile and said, dripping with mockery,
"I see you worked on your stammer… shame you didn't work on your brain."
Deliberately flirting, I tilted my head and rose onto my toes to get closer to his face.
I brought my lips level with his, almost touching, and breathed,
"I'm not here to get caught by you. I'm here for something bigger."
I smirked, eyes on his full, well-shaped mouth, and whispered,
"Don't try to block me—or I'll show you just how sharp my heels are."
I dragged my gaze off his lips and started to step back—when his arms snapped round my waist and slammed me into the glass cube behind me. For a second, the air left my lungs. I stared at him, shocked. Thank God no one was looking; the lights had dipped for the tango set.
Still gripping my waist, he leaned in with infuriating calm. His breath warmed my cold skin.
My chest heaved; my heart tried to punch through bone.
"The organisation's handed down new orders, little one. And the order is—"
Staring into my eyes, he said, smooth and soulless,
"By midnight, I'm to get you out of this party and deliver you."He paused, reading every line of my face, then my eyes.
I laughed, brittle, pressing the back of my head to the glass. I held his gaze and let the wicked smile spread.
"Fine. Then by midnight, I'll kill you. That way no one gets to hand me to those filthy bastards."
Hatred tightened my fists. I growled,
"Told you—I wore my heels."
He got the message. He knew I was ready—and I hadn't walked into this hell without a plan.
He smiled—soft, empty. His deep, cold eyes held mine as he brushed the back of his hand along my spine.
"Mmm. Then I'd like to see under this dress… soon."
I stared at him, breath snagging, heart stalling.
"For a look at your high heels."
Deadpan. Mocking. I blinked, stunned—then ground my teeth.
Severin's sardonic voice hissed in my ear,
"You're such a buzzkill. I thought it would end in sex."
I shot Ashur a scornful look and shoved his chest with my palm to force space. He stepped back, that victorious curve still on his lips, and slid his hands into his pockets.
With a snarl, bunching my hem in my fist, I said,
"Don't get in my way, arsehole."
The flash in his eyes—electric—could've stopped anyone cold. In that low light, his face looked terrifying. Regal.
He took one step back, glanced me over, and said,
"I know why you're here, Viuna. The one standing in my way tonight is you."
So he knew. Which meant he'd do anything to get the painting—and the data inside it.
Years ago, the organisation lost one of its key lab kids to the Triangle Union. Now, after all this time, they had a chance to find that child—and they'd send their best.
And their best was Ashur.