Lera’s stilettos click a crisp warning as she sweeps through the party, a sliver of midnight-blue silk skimming lean, tensed legs. Her hair is twisted high, dangerously immaculate, as if daring the room to find a single strand out of place. Eyes scan the crowd—hungry, cold, calculating—missing nothing, not even the way Ithran’s camera strap dents his collarbone from across the room.

He stands against a shadowed wall, swagger leaking into every restless shift of his body—shirt half-tucked, jeans tight around long, lithe hips, fingers stained with ink from his notebook. Ithran’s lashes lower as he catches Lera watching him, a knowing smirk pulling at his mouth. He raises his camera, just for her, snapping once. Flash—her mask fractures for a second, and heat blooms in her cheeks, furious and electric.

Sidelle slinks by, her look tart—the bold print of her dress clashes, purposefully gaudy, ostentatious. She circles Lera, lips curled. “Surprised you’re here alone, Lera. Thought you’d have someone to pull your strings tonight.” The barb lands; Lera arches an eyebrow, ignoring the sting, but her hand fists tight around her clutch, nails digging in.

“Strings get tangled, Sidelle. Some of us know how to cut them.” Lera’s tone is velvet over broken glass. Sidelle’s eyes flick to Ithran, a glimmer of something mean and possessive in the tilt of her chin. She dismisses herself with a toss of hair, but her words gnaw.

A pulse thrums in Lera’s temple as she navigates a corridor, the air thick with spilled champagne and secrets. She rounds the corner—collides with Ithran in a narrow stairwell, shoulders brushing, sparks hissing between the lines of their bodies. His eyes rake over her, lingering on bare skin above the silk. He’s close enough to taste her perfume—sharp, mysterious, a little cruel.

He bars her way with a lazy arm, mouth grazing her ear. “Didn’t expect to see you watching me. Afraid I’ll snap the wrong angle?” His voice is low, teasing—but something raw shivers beneath it. Lera doesn’t step back. “Just making sure you know where the lines are, Ithran.” Her breath fans hot against his jaw—his response: fingers trailing her wrist, thumb stroking her pulse, both daring the other to blink first.

They hover there, tension pulsing between skin and shadow, inches from reckless. Lera’s lips part as if to speak, but Ithran’s free hand slides along her waist—soothing, dangerous. For a single, suspended heartbeat, neither gives ground; their eyes lock, the threat of surrender as sharp as desire.

Someone coughs at the landing above—Lera untangles, mask snapping back into place. Ithran leans against the wall, watching her go, but his eyes burn even brighter, hungry for a rematch.

Rhysant appears near the bar, suit sharp and fitted, every button fastened with clinical precision. His gaze is flat, predatory, cool. He moves toward Ithran with the measured confidence of a man who owns every inch of space he walks in. “Didn’t expect you here,” he says, voice cold as steel. The memory of old wounds flickers between them; Ithran’s jaw tightens.

“Gotta be where the stories are,” Ithran fires back, jaw set, but his bravado goes brittle under Rhysant’s stare. Tension sharpens, violence barely veiled under practiced indifference. Across the room, Lera watches—her control slipping, breath caught somewhere between triumph and terror.

Sidelle lingers at the fringe, watching the trio—her stomach sour, heart a knot of jealousy. She slides her phone from her purse, thumbs firing off a text to someone unseen: He’s with her. Again. Do something.

Later, the crowd thins. Rhysant corners Sidelle near the storeroom, his expression carved from stone. “I know what you’ve done,” he whispers, voice soft but venomous. She tries to meet his eyes, fails. Her facade falters—lips trembling before she hardens, steel flooding her spine.

“You don’t know a thing.” Sidelle spits the words, but inside, panic blooms acid and cold.

He leans in, his threat deliberate, intimate: “Don’t test me, Sidelle. We both know how that ends.” He’s gone before she can answer, leaving her breathless, shaking, secrets curdling behind her smile.

To be continued...