I felt it then.
It wasn’t jealousy but a primal need to mark my territory right there and then. The realization was immediate and unwelcome, but I had to remember she wasn’t mine.
I didn’t even know her name.
And yet the idea of that man touching her waist irritated something primitive and irrational inside me. I downed the scotch in one gulp and set my empty glass down on the counter. I waited, deciding not to move immediately. I let him finish whatever rehearsed charm he was offering. I watched her body language instead.
She was subtly disengaging, already mentally locked out of the conversation. She took one step back, and her shoulder shifted away from him. I could see she was being polite but firm. It wasn’t much longer after that that the man finally took a step back. Once he had retreated, I exhaled slowly.
Without waiting another second, I started walking toward her, each step measured and unhurried. I didn’t break eye contact this time. And neither did she. It almost felt as if she was waiting for me to come towards her. The crowd parted without realizing they were doing it. Not because of fear but because of my presence. I could see she noticed that too, just like she noticed everything, and her lips curved slightly.
It almost felt like an invitation, and I stopped a few feet away.
Up close, her eyes were lighter than I’d thought. Light blue with grey flickers. They were sparkling with unconcealed intelligence and wit. Her skin was smooth, almost luminous beneath the mask.
“Enjoying yourself?” I asked, my voice even.
It wasn’t the most original opening line, but I wasn’t interested in clever, rehearsed charm. I was interested in how she answered. She tilted her head slightly, studying me the same way I’d studied her from across the room.
“That depends,” she said. “Are you part of the entertainment or the threat?”
A slow smile pulled at the corner of my mouth.
Interesting indeed.
And for the first time that night, I felt awake.
“I prefer to observe before I decide which one I am,” I replied.
Her gaze sharpened, interest flickering there even if it was brief and controlled. “So you’re undecided.”
“I’m patient.”
“That’s worse.”
“Only for people who have something to hide.”
A faint arch of her brow. “And do I?”
“I don’t know yet, but I am hoping to find out.”
Her lips curved, slow and deliberate. “That sounds like a challenge.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
“But it is. For some reason, it feels as if everything about you is a challenge.”
For a second, we simply stood there, the music swelling around us, bodies brushing past in silk and velvet and sequins. The air felt heavier up close. It was warmer and charged with an emotion I could not name yet.
Up close, she was even more deliberate than I’d thought. Nothing about her was accidental. The cut of her gown emphasized strength rather than fragility. The mask framed her eyes without softening them. Even the way she held her champagne glass, balanced and precise, spoke of control. She wasn’t a damsel in distress but a tigress ready to hunt.
“What are you observing now?” she asked.
“You.”
“And your verdict?”
“I don’t have one yet.”
