The ballroom buzzed with laughter and clinking glasses, the air thick with perfume, wealth, and subtle power plays. Kira moved through it like smoke—unnoticed by most, but impossible to forget by the few who actually saw her.

  She had been listening more than speaking all evening, observing interactions, noting dynamics. It was how she'd survived this long—understanding the rules of the game before even stepping onto the board.

  And then she heard the name.

  Valeron Group. A foreign investor network with interests in biotech, energy, and rare earth materials. The kind of opportunity she couldn’t ignore.

  She caught his attention effortlessly—poised, confident, and with just enough mystery to make him lean in.

  “You’re not from this world,” Monsieur Duval had said with a small smile.

  “Not this part of it,” she replied in fluent French, letting the syllables roll like silk off her tongue. “But I’ve danced with investors before.”

  He’d raised a brow, intrigued. “In what capacity?”

  Kira didn’t flinch. “Emerging tech. I helped scale a company out of the red within a fiscal quarter. I’ve been tracking your firm’s interest in South Asia—there’s overlap with a project I’ve been developing.”

  Duval’s interest deepened. “You’re not just here for the champagne, are you?”

  She smiled. “I came to listen. But I don’t waste good conversations.”

  He offered a card, impressed. “Let’s talk again. Privately.”

  She nodded, pocketing it as she walked away. The connection had been made. And just like that, another door cracked open.

  She barely got two steps before a new voice stopped her.

  “You mentioned biotech earlier—may I ask how you’re involved?”

  Kira turned slowly. The man standing in front of her wore the suit well, but not naturally. She recognized him from earlier—stationed just a step behind Liam Carrington, playing invisible.

  “You’ve got sharp ears for someone who’s supposed to blend in,” she said coolly.

  He smiled, but there was tension at the corners of his mouth. “I’m curious by nature.”

  “And careless, apparently,” she replied. “I didn’t mention biotech in the open. So either you’re spying or you’re guessing.”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  She took a step closer, voice low. “Tell me, are you here to recruit, or report?”

  A flicker in his eyes, barely perceptible, gave him away. His gaze drifted momentarily toward the far side of the ballroom—toward Liam Carrington, who stood in casual conversation, one hand in his pocket, eyes trained on them.

  Kira tilted her head, amused. “Tell your boss I’m not in the mood for auditions. If he’s curious, he can ask me himself.”

  She walked away with the kind of calm that made it clear she already knew the game—and that she’d play it only when she chose to.

  —

  Across the room, the Kings watched in silence.

  Jasper Blackwood was the first to speak. “So? Bluff or brilliance?”

  Liam’s smirk deepened. “She doesn’t bluff.”

  Sebastian raised his glass. “Our Jack’s mystery angel. Now with claws.”

  “She's not interested in us,” Liam said, almost to himself.

  Jasper gave a half-shrug. “Not yet.”

  “She’s different,” Liam added.

  “She’s dangerous,” Sebastian corrected, tone edged with something like fascination. “And if we’re not careful... she might just burn this place down.”

  The moment Kira slipped behind a column, her mask cracked. Not from fear—never fear—but from exhaustion. The glitter, the whispers, the eyes trailing her like she’d stolen something… it was suffocating.

  Then she spotted her.

  Lilah stood near a half-circle of stylists and influencers, camera lights flashing as everyone tried to pull her into frame. Her smile was polite, practiced, but Kira saw the glassiness in her eyes, the way her hand twitched nervously against her clutch.

  “Showtime’s over,” Kira murmured, stepping in.

  “Kira—” Lilah started, relief blooming across her face.

  “Smile and nod,” Kira said under her breath, looping an arm around Lilah’s waist like she belonged there. “We’re leaving. Now.”

  Lilah didn’t argue.

  They slipped through the crowd like ghosts, untouched by the lights and laughter. Minutes later, they were outside, the cool night air like a slap of reality.

  Kira let out a long breath. “You okay?”

  Lilah kicked off her heels and sighed. “I hate half of them.”

  “Which half?”

  “The ones pretending to love me.”

  Kira smirked. “Come on. I know a place.”

  —

  Fifteen minutes later, Lilah blinked up at a glowing yellow sign that read Frankie’s Grill in peeling letters.

  “This… is not vegan sushi.”

  “Nope,” Kira said, already walking toward the rickety table near the curb. “This is soul food. The kind that clogs arteries and solves existential dread.”

  They sat on plastic stools, a world away from silk gowns and ballroom gossip. The smell of fried oil and spice thickened the air, and Kira looked more at peace than she had all evening.

  “Chicken wings,” Kira announced. “Loser buys dessert.”

  Lilah raised a brow. “Seriously?”

  “You scared?”

  “I’m in heels and a dress.”

  “So am I,” Kira grinned. “Let’s go, movie star.”

  What started as a joke became war.

  They devoured one plate, then another, licking hot sauce from their fingers, laughing between mouthfuls. A crowd of nearby students tried to sneak pictures, clearly recognizing Lilah, but she waved them off with sauce on her nose.

  “I haven’t done this in years,” Lilah said, breathless.

  “Yeah, well,” Kira leaned back, finishing the last wing, “normal is underrated.”

  Lilah studied her. “You’re not normal.”

  Kira paused. “No. But I want it. Just… moments like this.”

  Lilah’s smile softened. “You can have more. If you want.”

  For the first time that night, Kira didn’t feel the weight of plans or secrets pressing on her. Just heat from the grill, laughter between bites, and the flicker of something unfamiliar warming inside her.

  Maybe… feeling this warmth inside isn’t so bad.