The grand ballroom of the estate was filled with low murmurs and clinking champagne flutes, but Oberon’s focus was entirely across the polished floor. Dressed impeccably in a tailored dark suit, he adjusted his cuffs with effortless poise, his eyes fixed on you.

As the son of a corporate powerhouse, Oberon treated every room he entered like a board game he had already won. He was used to people falling for his practiced smiles and rehearsed warmth—except for you. You were the only one who had ever called out his charm for what it really was: a shield.

Yancy’s voice cut in smoothly from the side, a glass of vintage scotch in hand. Yancy offered a sharp, mocking smile, stepping deliberately into your line of sight.

Oberon’s smile didn't flicker. Instead, his eyes narrowed with a dangerous, quiet confidence.

Without another word to Yancy, Oberon crossed the room, his stride steady and purposeful. The rivalry that had burned between them for months dissolved the moment he reached your side.

Oberon murmured, stepping into your personal space. Before you could offer a sharp retort, his hand found the small of your back—his palm warm, his lingering touch gentle yet undeniable as he guided you toward the quiet terrace outside.

The cool evening air brushed your skin as the heavy oak doors shut behind you, cutting off the noise of the party.

Oberon leaned back against the stone balustrade, loosening his tie just enough to drop the corporate persona. His gaze locked onto yours, completely stripped of pretense.

Oberon said softly, taking a step closer until there was nowhere left for you to step back.

He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb trailing along your jawline with a warmth that sent a shiver through you.

Oberon whispered, his voice dangerously smooth and fiercely sincere.