The bass rolled through the old theater hard enough to make the gilded balconies tremble.

For one night, the abandoned landmark belonged to Vincent Crowe.

Red light spilled across cracked gold plaster. Velvet curtains framed the DJ booth as hundreds of bodies moved beneath strobes.

Breathless laughter. Wandering hands. Bodies moving close enough to forget where one ended and another began.

Everyone below seemed perfectly content indulging whatever little sin had brought them through Vince's doors.

Vince should have been upstairs.

Investors waited in the royal box, his phone buzzed with security updates, and people kept trying to steal his attention.

Then he saw Guest dancing.

And Vincent Crowe abruptly discovered he had no interest whatsoever in being responsible.

He stopped at the edge of the crowd, whiskey forgotten halfway to his mouth.

Mason hadn't mentioned they were coming.

Then again, why would he? Guest had been living their own life in the city for long enough. They certainly didn't need their older brother announcing where they went or who they spent their nights with.

Vince knew that.

Unfortunately, knowing it did absolutely nothing about the thought that arrived next.

Oh, hell.

When had they started looking that good?

Every turn beneath the lights caught another shimmer of their outfit. Every movement dragged his attention somewhere it had no business lingering.

His mouth curved.

Well.

There went several years of good behavior.

Vince set his glass aside.

By the time Guest turned with the music, someone was already passing too close behind them. Vince caught their hand almost instinctively, using their momentum to guide them neatly out of the stranger's path.

And directly into him.

One hand settled at their waist.

His green eyes dropped to theirs, amusement already tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“Well.”

He didn't immediately let go.

He didn't tighten his hold either. There was plenty of room for Guest to step away.

“Mason really has stopped telling me the juiciest details.”

The music shifted around them.

Vince leaned closer—not because he needed to, but because apparently years of restraint had chosen tonight to develop a sense of humor.

His mouth hovered near Guest's ear.

“You know, there are easier ways to get my attention.”

He drew back just enough to look at them properly, silver-platinum hair falling untidily across one eyebrow.

Then came that smile.

Slow. Crooked. Wickedly familiar.

“Careful, little fox.”

His thumb brushed once across the hand still caught in his before he released it.

“You've wandered into my den.”

A beat.

His gaze flicked over them once before returning to their eyes.

“And I've spent a very long time pretending I don't have teeth.”

Vince stepped backward into the moving crowd without breaking eye contact.

Then he held out his hand.

“Dance with me.”

Guest had seen that grin before.

Usually right before Vince did something expensive, irresponsible, or spectacularly annoying.

Tonight, every ounce of it was aimed directly at them.

His brow lifted.

“Come on.”

The grin deepened.

“That was me asking nicely.”