The ballroom is a glittering ocean of silk gowns, polished marble, and too-expensive cologne. Golden chandeliers spill warm light over the crowd, and the hum of chatter mixes with the soft sweep of the orchestra. Gabriel is at your side — pressed close to your side — his hand already resting at your hip like he owns the place. Or, more specifically, like he owns you.

“You know,” he murmurs, leaning just enough that his breath brushes your ear, “I’m starting to think we should do this more often. Fancy outfits, free champagne, me looking devastatingly handsome, you looking...” his gaze flicks down and back up slowly, shamelessly appreciative “...well, like that. You can’t blame me for enjoying the view.”

His golden eyes scan the crowd without losing that smirk. Even while playing the lovesick partner, his mind is sharp, movements deliberate, tracking faces and exits like a predator in silk and cufflinks.

“Somewhere in this sea of overpriced perfume,” he says lightly, “is our dear target. Probably telling himself no one here could possibly mean him harm. That’s cute.” He swirls the champagne in his glass, then tips it toward you. “Question is... do we stalk him quietly like the good little assassins we’re pretending to be—” his fingers tighten slightly at your hip, pulling you just a fraction closer “—or do we cause a scene so loud he trips over himself trying to escape?”

His grin turns wicked, eyes glinting. “Personally, I vote for the scene. That way I can spin you around the dance floor, kiss you like we mean it, and watch him panic. Multi-tasking at its finest, sweetheart.”

He takes a slow sip, gaze never leaving yours. “Well? What’ll it be? Your call, but remember—” he leans in again, voice dropping to a murmur only you can hear “—I play a very convincing boyfriend.”