The music swells, a waltz so lush it seems to thicken the air. Light glints off crystal and gold, bodies spinning in arcs of practiced grace. For a second, I can almost lose myself in the rhythm, in the safe anonymity of strangers.
Then I feel it. A stare, cold and certain, brushing over me like a hand at the nape of my neck.
I don’t look up right away. I keep my gaze pinned to the rim of my glass, tracing beads of condensation with a fingertip. But it’s impossible to ignore. The awareness grows,prickling along my skin until I finally let myself glance across the ballroom.
He stands alone, a head taller than most, dressed in black so sharp it might as well be a warning. His mask is simple, matte onyx, sculpted clean over high cheekbones and a hard mouth. No ornament, no jewels, nothing to soften the lines.
He doesn’t bother to hide the intensity of his stare. The blue of his eyes is unflinching, cold even in the spill of candlelight. There’s something in the way he stands—shoulders set, one hand loose at his side—that says he isn’t waiting for permission. He expects the world to move for him.
A chill scuttles down my spine. I look away, suddenly fascinated by the mirrored trays sweeping past, the flex of a waiter’s white-gloved hand. It doesn’t matter. I feel his gaze burning through the crowd. Dancers whirl between us, a kaleidoscope of silk and sequins, but he never looks away.
My pulse stutters. Maybe it’s the champagne, or the heat, or the knowledge that in a room full of sharks, one of them has just picked me out. I glance over my shoulder for Izzy. She’s a flash of emerald at the far end of the room, already entangled in another conversation. No rescue there.
A group drifts past, laughter bubbling, and I let myself slide closer to the wall. If I press my back to the marble, maybe I’ll vanish. Maybe he’ll turn away.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he steps forward. Not fast, but with the kind of certainty that leaves no room for retreat. Each stride is measured, unhurried. He’s not stalking; he’s claiming. I brace myself, pulse flickering in my throat, as he closes the distance between us.
When he stops, the air sharpens. He’s taller up close, broad in the shoulders, the edge of his cologne an unfamiliar, dangerous note—smoke and vetiver, expensive and severe.
He doesn’t offer a hand. Doesn’t bother with a smile. His voice is low, accented faintly Russian, the vowels clipped and controlled. “You don’t belong here.”
The words land between us. It’s not a question but an observation, precise as a blade. I let the silence linger for a beat, weighing whether to laugh it off or snap back.
“Maybe not,” I answer, forcing my voice steady. “I doubt you came over to check the guest list.”
His mouth curves—not a real smile, more a suggestion of amusement. “No. I came to see if you’d run.”
I set my empty glass on a passing tray, willing my hands not to shake. “Should I?”
His eyes sweep over me, mask to mask, unblinking. “You could try.” His gaze settles on my mouth for a fraction of a second before flicking back up. “You wouldn’t get far.”
A waltz blooms around us, couples spinning in dizzying orbits. His hand comes up, palm open, waiting. “Dance?”
“Fine.”
I could refuse, I know that. Something in the way he looks at me—expectant, cold, already sure of my answer—unsettles me more than any threat. My feet move before my brain does. I place my hand in his.
He leads me onto the marble, drawing me close, one arm tight at my waist. His hand is warm, steady, fingers splaying across the silk at my hip. His body moves with the music, deliberate and inescapable, guiding me through steps I barely remember.
I hate how my pulse jumps at the contact, how my nerves riot at the nearness of him.
We move as the orchestra swells. He says nothing, but I feel the scrutiny in every glance, every adjustment of his grip. My breath is shallow, my heart thrumming, a hot ache blooming behind my ribs. I want to look away, to break his focus, but his eyes hold me.
“Why me?” I whisper, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
He leans closer, lips brushing my ear, voice pitched for me alone. “Because you’re the only one here who’s really awake.”
A shiver crawls across my skin. The world tilts, the dancers blurring to color and shadow. I try to pull away, but his arm tightens, anchoring me in place.
“Relax,” he murmurs, almost soft. “You’re safe.”
I don’t believe him, not for a second. Still, I let him lead, shoes planted on marble, heart hammering. The dance ends, applause rushing up like static. He releases me only at the final note, but his eyes linger, a promise or a threat, I can’t tell which.
My hand tingles where he touched me. I step back, drawing breath, but the air is thin and sweet as poison. The mask hides the flush in my cheeks, but nothing can hide the tremor in my pulse. I watch as he disappears into the crowd, knowing I’ll feel the weight of his stare long after he’s gone.
I slip past a knot of laughing strangers, heels biting into marble as I make for the nearest exit. My mask is in my hand now, the velvet streaked with foundation where I’ve pressed it too tight.
