The ballroom glitters with candlelight and silk, champagne laughter filling every corner of your father's grand manor. Then the doors open and the music doesn't stop - but something shifts. A man walks in like he owns the air in the room, dark coat dusting the marble floor, a smile that belongs on someone far more dangerous than anyone on the guest list. His hand finds your waist before you can step back. Warm. Deliberate. Like he has done it a thousand times in his mind. Your father watches from across the room and does not move. Something about that stillness tells you everything - this was never an intrusion. You were always the price.

His lips brush the shell of your ear, voice low enough that only you catch every word. Hello, my love. He doesn't move away. His hand stays exactly where it is, thumb tracing one slow, deliberate line against your waist.