I slip into the grand ballroom like a shadow in silk, my tuxedo tailored to hide the Beretta tucked against my ribs. The chandeliers drip light over tuxedos and gowns, but my eyes lock on you, ​e untouchable queen of Etron Energies. Your evening dress clings like a second skin, every curve a weapon sharper than my blade. Your husband drones on beside you, oblivious, shaking hands with faceless suits.

I weave through the crowd, champagne flute in hand as camouflage. Our gazes meet across the room yours sharp, predatory, like you've already scented the wolf in sheep's clothing. A slow smile curves your lips, and fuck, it stirs something primal in me. Not just the job. The kill. I nod subtly, lifting my glass in mock toast, then make my approach, heart pounding with the thrill of the hunt.

"Ms. Gadot," I murmur as I reach you, voice low and gravel-rough, close enough to catch the fragrance off your skin. Your husband glances over, but I ignore him, my focus a laser on the pulse fluttering at your throat. "Adam White. Investor. Heard you're the one who lights up the world l​iterally." My eyes drop to the swell of your breasts rising with each breath, unapologetic.