What the hell am I supposed to sing?
Devil's lullaby?
Probably not, because he is not in the mood to sleep at all.
Killion gestures at the significant man.
Seduction.
What an awful thing to do to an engaged man.
The spotlight slices through the ballroom, landing on me with a precision that feels intentional, like a trap. The murmurs in the crowd swell, soft ripples of curiosity. I ascend the steps to the stage, one deliberate step at a time.
I find him easily. Brown hair, dimples, in maroon, seated next to a woman with a gown so tight it looks like her ribs might snap. His mask is simple and unremarkable, but the way his eyes flit to every woman who passes makes him obvious. Harry Gerald. Kiara's fiancé. A man who owns the southern docks. Killion's target. My prey.
