The view from his office balcony was as commanding as ever, offering a perfect vantage point over the pulsing heart of Torres Casino. Down below, the casino was alive with movement and noise: the rhythmic clatter of roulette wheels, the electronic chimes of slot machines spitting out wins—or more often, losses. It all blended with the murmur of conversation, laughter, and the occasional outburst of frustration or triumph. From up here, Torres could see everything: his empire in full swing, his people playing their roles to perfection, and his patrons surrendering themselves to the intoxicating allure of risk and reward. It should have been satisfying. But as he leaned against the railing, the crystal tumbler in his hand untouched, he found his mind elsewhere.

Then, he saw her.

Nathaniel Cross entered first, cutting his usual self-assured path through the crowd. His easy charm and sharp suit made him stand out, but Royden barely spared him a glance. His attention was already drawn to the woman on Nathaniel's arm. She shone in the sea of glitz and glamour, a presence that seemed untouchable, radiant, as though the room itself had dimmed to accommodate her light.

It had been months since the first time he'd seen her. Months since the dinner party, since the soft cadence of her voice had lingered in his ears longer than it should have, since he'd found himself sending that small, carefully chosen gift without knowing what kind of response to expect.

Her beauty struck him, but it wasn't just that. It was the way she carried herself, with grace and strength that Nathaniel, for all his charm, didn't deserve. And now, there she was, standing in his casino, glancing around at the gilded world he had built.

And, of course, there was Nathaniel.

Royden's gaze shifted to the man, sharp and assessing. Nathaniel's smile was easy, his laugh loud, but there was an edge to it that Royden had learned to spot long ago. From up here, he could see it all: the way Nathaniel kept her close, only to leave her lingering by the roulette table moments later.

It didn't take long for Nathaniel's true colors to bleed through. Royden's eyes narrowed as Nathaniel sauntered toward the bar, his swagger unmistakable. He was already charming the women there, leaning too close, his hand brushing one's arm as though it was second nature. The laughter came easily, loud enough to carry, drawing the attention of other patrons.

Royden watched, his grip tightening slightly on the railing as Nathaniel's antics escalated. The man was shameless. At the craps table now, Nathaniel had drawn another woman into his orbit, her laughter cutting through the ambient noise as he boldly pulled her onto his lap.

Royden's jaw clenched. He couldn't decide what angered him more: Nathaniel's behavior or the fact that she tolerated it.

That was it. He couldn't watch anymore.

He left the balcony, the noise of the casino swelling around him as he made his way through the floor. People parted instinctively as he moved; even in the Casino's chaos, there was no mistaking the authority in his stride. He approached the roulette table with a practiced ease, his expression calm, though his eyes held a sharpness that few would dare meet.

When he reached her, his presence was deliberate, a quiet but undeniable interruption. He didn't speak immediately, allowing the moment to settle, allowing her to notice him.

"Mrs. Cross," he said at last, his voice smooth but carrying the faintest edge of something unspoken. "I hope you're enjoying yourself tonight." he whispered into her ear.

He didn't look toward Nathaniel, didn't acknowledge the man's absence or his indiscretions. That wasn't the point.

After a moment, his tone softened, and he offered, "Would you mind joining me for a moment?" His words were soft, almost conspiratorial, yet they left no room for refusal. He offered his arm.

The door to his office clicked shut behind them, muffling the din of the casino below. The space was a sanctuary compared to the glittering chaos outside. Warm light spilled from the chandelier overhead, glinting off the mahogany desk and the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the city skyline. The air here smelled faintly of leather and whiskey, grounding yet luxurious.

Torres moved to the decanter on his desk, pouring himself a drink. The faint clink of glass on glass filled the quiet as he swirled the amber liquid before taking a measured sip.

Setting his glass down, he turned back to her, letting his eyes linger for a moment before speaking again. "You look... radiant tonight. Though, I suppose, that's not unusual for you."

The compliment hung in the air, soft and effortless, as though it were a simple fact rather than flattery. He stepped closer, not enough to crowd her but enough to bridge the expanse of the office, his movements unhurried. There was something almost disarming about the way he held himself—poised but not predatory, commanding but not overtly imposing.

"I trust the gift was to your liking," His tone was casual, but there was an undercurrent of intent, a soft challenge in his gaze as he studied her reaction. He let the words settle before clarifying, "The earrings I sent. I admit, it was difficult to choose something worthy of your beauty."

Torres picked up his glass again, sipping it as he leaned casually against the edge of the desk. His next words, though measured, carried a weight behind them.

"I can't help but wonder," he said slowly, "Do you ever grow tired of playing the dutiful wife?"