Damien lowered his head, entering the heavy space of their shared arousal a heartbeat before she did. He used his tongue to part her teeth, a silent, carnal invitation to the dance.

In front of the silent, watching crowd, Damien suddenly became more tangible than he had ever been—concrete, visible, and devastatingly close. Between them lay the brush of their eyelashes, the hazy drift of shared intent, and his ragged, low-register breathing. 

In that moment, Mia felt her life fracture into two distinct halves: the world before him, and the world he had created. Damien had brought her into a different time and a different space, a vacuum where no one else existed and nothing else mattered—a territory governed solely by his will.

Under the collective gaze of the Syndicate elite, Damien used his teeth to catch the metal tab of the zipper at the neck of her high-collared wool dress. He pulled it down, inch by excruciating inch, the movement as agonizingly slow as a cinematic long-take. He had been seductive enough when he wasn't trying; now that he was intentionally laying siege to her, the effect was lethal.

The zipper parted. The skin hidden beneath the wool was exposed to the cool air, and Damien leaned in, pressing his lips to the elegant, pale curve of her neck. He moved downward, his mouth tracing a path of fire. Under the sharp halogen lights of the suite, a thin, shimmering veil of moisture glistened on his lips.

This meticulous, inch-by-inch intimacy was a masterclass in power—it was a level of sex appeal that far surpassed raw, physical friction.

Through the haze of shock and trepidation, Mia finally understood what Julian had meant. Damien never gives a woman an opening. Because he knows—if he gives her a chance, she will never be able to escape him.

Was it luck or a curse? She had encountered a man who made every other human being she would ever meet for the rest of her life seem utterly dull.

Finally, Damien raised his hand and unpinned her hair. The dark, straight tresses spilled over her shoulders like silk. He took a single lock between his fingers and pressed a reverent kiss to it.

As a scholar of literature, Mia knew the weight of the gesture. For a man to kiss a woman's hair was to declare a devotion as intricate and endless as the "three thousand threads of sorrow" themselves. He never used the word "love," but for those who knew how to look, every one of the Sovereign's movements was saturated with a profound, terrifying meaning.

A minute is a heartbeat. Eternity is the distance to the horizon.

Damien let the lock of hair slip from his fingertips. He reached out and adjusted her collar, his thumb grazing the dark violet bruise he had left on her neck earlier. He smiled faintly, then lowered his head to catch the zipper in his teeth again, pulling it back up with methodical grace.

A perfect conclusion. Unhurried. Exactly sixty seconds.

Damien turned toward the room, letting out a languid, elegant cough.

"Well," he murmured, his pale gray eyes scanning the crowd with absolute indifference. "Have you all seen enough?"

Kitten blinked, finally finding her breath. She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead, her hand moving like a frantic fan.

Damien hadn't actually done anything truly scandalous, yet she felt as though he had personally set a match to the oxygen in the room. Julian reached out, pressing a cold glass of water against her flushed cheek. Kitten jumped as if someone had stepped on her tail, skittering away from him.

"Don't touch me!" she hissed.

"What?" Julian asked, bewildered. He studied her crimson face and held the glass out again. "Why are you so overheated?"

Kitten ignored him, snatched the glass, and downed the water in a single, desperate gulp.

Julian watched her, a slow, knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "...You didn't get so invested in the show that you actually want to 'work out' now, did you?"

Kitten nearly choked, spraying water across the rug.

Julian laughed, pulling a silk handkerchief from his pocket to dab her face. "That's a big reaction, Kitten," he teased, unable to hide his amusement. "It's perfectly normal for an adult to have a physiological response to... intimacy."

Kitten glared at him, her face turning a shade of red that looked like it might actually draw blood.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop laughing," Julian cooed, though the glint in his eyes said otherwise.

Kitten had reached her limit. She stomped hard on Julian's foot and bolted toward the kitchen.

"Hey!" Julian called out after her. "Where are you going?"

"Boil water for tea!" Kitten screamed back without looking.

Julian couldn't contain it anymore. He covered his mouth with his fist, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

With Kitten in the kitchen, Mia had also performed a strategic disappearance. Julian turned back to the room, realizing only the men remained. Damien, the architect of the chaos, was leisurely sipping a glass of water.

His pale lips were still shimmering with moisture, his posture radiating a dangerous, high-definition elegance. Julian was reminded of Kitten's description of his brother: La belle. The beauty. It was an accurate assessment.

Julian walked over. Without saying a word, he reached into the pocket of Damien's tailored trousers. Through the fine fabric, Julian's fingers brushed against his brother's body heat.

Damien didn't stop him. He just wore a look of bored, dark amusement. "Easy, Julian. I'm not interested in you."

"Crazy bastard," Julian muttered, completely unfazed.

He withdrew his hand, holding the prize he'd expected: the Ace of Hearts. It was the card Damien was supposed to have played in the final round. Julian arched an inquisitive brow.

Damien shrugged, a languid tilt of his head. "Ah..."

"I knew you moved the deck," Julian said, tossing the Ace onto the marble tabletop. "Your hands were so fast I didn't even see the cheat."

Damien smiled, not even attempting to deny it.

"I had no choice," Damien murmured, his eyes turning back toward the hallway where Mia had vanished. "Your wife's gambling skills are a disaster. Do you have any idea how much effort it takes to ensure a woman like that actually 'wins' against me?"