Zeref A. Drecon
For someone who had been in enough ballroom to count them like wasted hours, I had mastered the art of not noticing anyone. These places were predictable, glittering hotel ballroom, champagne in crystal flutes, the kind of people who laugh with their mouths but not their eyes. But in this crowd, I wasn’t Zeref A. Drecon, son of the empire, a big tech syndicate called “Arkanum Prime”. But just “Ares” a freelancer with no paper trail, and tonight a rent-a-guard hired for security team in tonight’s charity event. Although my reasons were more than just “bored rent-a-guard” roleplay, as I was there for some lead I’ve been working on as a freelancer against cyber-crime. A female client was being blackmailed by some rich douche-bag for inappropriate pictures of her. Another day another shitty guy being an asshole.
The sound of classical music echoing through the ballroom, the clink of crystal, the fake laughter pitched just high enough to pierce, the way people’s eyes darted past you to find someone richer, prettier or more useful. I’d come here tonight under a different name, wearing a security badge over a custom-tailored tux-well a guy has to be stylish- to blend in.
Until she walked in. And here she was, in a peculiar yet magnetic aura, she wore an emerald more of a hinted phthalo green boho-luxe, slit high enough on one side to flash a hint of skin when she walked and some antique dull gold belt around her waist. The arm cuff was hammered brass, the kind of accessory that looked like it belonged at an art festival, not under chandeliers. Her hairs were free long, loose waves tumbling to her lower back. Under the ballroom lights, the deep purple and maroon strands threaded through the dark caught the gold glint of chandeliers. She looked like a Queen, effortless, like she had just stepped out of some Greek mythology.
It wasn’t her dress- though the emerald silk clung in a way that made a man forget his own name- or the sharp sweep of her hairs that caught the ballroom light and reflected like unsolved mystery, or her devil red lips and skin color of mocha. It was something in the way she Moved. Fluttering. Certain. Butterfly. As if she wasn’t here to be seen...but to see. My gaze followed her on its own accord. She didn’t scan the room like the rest of the predators here-for prey or opportunity. Her eyes flicked in deliberate patterns, taking in exits, blind spots, people. Calculated.
I have met beautiful women. I’ve met dangerous women. But there was something about her-an unspoken I DARE YOU in her gaze-that was dangerous in a way even I couldn’t name.
" You are staring so hard, she might burn”, the comm in my ear crackles with Kyle’s amused voice diverting my attention towards him.
Kyle is my best-friend, he and I were practically raised together like in a typical aristocratic way. Kyle was exactly where I expected him to be — holding glass of champagne near the marble column like the gala had been thrown in his honor. Midnight-blue suit, gold cufflinks, wine in hand. He’d had his hair done, but the bastard still ran his fingers through it on the way in just to give it that “casual heir” look.
Most people saw the smile first — easy, disarming, practiced. I knew better. That smile was a scalpel, sharp enough to cut open any conversation and slip past the guard people didn’t even know they had.
Kyle could blend into any room, any crowd. Tonight, he looked like the archetype of old money charm — because he was, just like me. Son of a pharmaceutical empire, though he’d rather die than admit his net worth at a poker table. He was here for the same reason I was: not charity, not networking, but intel.
But my distraction was HER. The strides were confident and direct yet elegant. As she made her way through the fake charade of people around her donned in atrocious richness and apathy, some men were ogling her like she was some piece of food, which made me unexplainably furious. My stomach felt twisted oddly enough.
“Mate? You still with me?” Kyle’s voice cracked through the comm.
“Who is she?” I asked, still tracking her through the crowd.
“Ohhh. You’ve found yourself a problem.”
“She’s not on the guest list,” I murmured.
“And you know this how? You didn’t even look at the guest list.”
“Don’t need to. She doesn’t fit.”
Kyle gave a low whistle. “Dangerous type?”
“Looks like it,” I said, my gaze locked as she cat-walks towards the bar, brushing past a waiter without so much as glancing at the tray. “Moves like it too.”
“Good. Keeps life interesting. Go say hi.”
“She’s not here to mingle, Kyle.”
A pause. “And yet you’re already halfway across the room.”
“She’s cutting toward the west exit,” I said, already angling my path to intercept.
Kyle chuckled in my ear. “Look at you, all territorial.”
“Look at her,” I countered. “And tell me you’re not curious.”
A beat of silence while I imagined him shifting his gaze to follow mine. “Alright… yeah, she’s a piece of work. Not your usual type.”
“I don’t have a usual type.”
“Sure, you don’t.” I could hear the smirk in his voice. “What’s the play here, Romeo?”
“Run her face.”
Kyle snorted. “You want me to facial-recognize a masked woman? In a room full of masked women? Brilliant plan.”
“The mask doesn’t hide everything. I want her walk, height, build, hair — she’s not exactly blending.”
Another pause, then the faint click of his tablet case opening. “Alright, alright… give me thirty seconds, I’ll tap into the security cams. Anything else, your highness?”
“Her name,” I said. “And everything else you can find before she disappears.”
“Sounds like you’re planning on keeping her.”
“Sounds like she’s not supposed to be here.”
Kyle hummed. “I’m telling you now — if she turns out to be some diplomat’s daughter, I’m not helping you smooth this over.”
“She’s not a diplomat’s daughter,” I said, eyes locked on her as she disappeared through a side door. “She’s something else.”
“You’re supposed to be here on your so called “I am broke freelancer doing side jobs involving mediocre paychecks” and here for free canapes”, Kyle said while looking into his tablet for security footage and details.
I barely heard him. Because the men she passed noticed. Heads turned. Conversations faltered for half a breath. One idiot in a tux had the gall to let his gaze drop far too low as she brushed past him. Oh, well his funeral.
Something sharp moved under my skin. It wasn’t rational — I didn’t know her — but the way their eyes lingered on her made my jaw tighten. She didn’t seem to care. That somehow made it worse.
“Hold up—she’s shadowing someone. Four o’clock, off-white dress, updo, pearls.”
I shifted my angle, letting my gaze sweep over the crowd. That’s when I saw her. Sharon Veda, silver hair coiled at the nape of her neck, posture still regal despite her age, that smug little half-smile she’d worn since the first time I’d met her as a kid. Her daughter is the one my father wants me to marry. Well, that’s not happening in what say? Gazillion years from now or EVER. That is the reason for the rift between me and my old dude, he wants to dip me in this poisonous relation, which by the way has one more reason for me to say No Thank you. Rumor has it that the old hag and his son has been involved in pretty shady side businesses. Retired Managing Director of our Eastern European branch — at least, that’s the story the board told. I knew better. Sharon didn’t retire. She repositioned.
My jaw tightened. “She’s following Veda.”
“That old hag?” Kyle scoffed. “Thought she was long gone.”
“She’s not gone. She’s here. Which means trouble.”
“And your mystery girl seems to know it,” Kyle added. “Question is, does she want to talk to Veda or put a knife in her?”
“Well, she is watching her like a sniper scopes a mark. And not for curiosity’s sake. There is weight in her eyes.”
“Careful. You are starting to sound interested”, Kyle drawls.
“I am just doing my job as a guard, remember?”, I said not moving my gaze from her.
“Uh-huh. Tell me that again while you are tracking her every move and ignoring the heiress currently trying to make eye contact with you.”
I let the comment slide, but in truth, Kyle wasn’t wrong. Something about her was different, not just her composure or her lack of small talk. It was the way she carried the air of someone who’d been through fire- and walked out with the flames still smoldering under her skin.
The west exit loomed. My mystery girl was going towards the side door, and I followed without hesitation.
“Got her on two camera angles,” Kyle murmured. “Hold still for a moment so I can get a profile—”
“Not an option,” I said. She was almost to the service door.
“Mate, you’re going to spook her if you—”
I moved. Three long strides and I slid into her path, casual but intentional. She stopped, gaze flicking up to mine. The scent rolled over me like heat — deep oud, rich and dark, laced with the faint scrape of leather. It was the kind of smell that didn’t just linger, it claimed space like spiced wine. Then the wild plum hit — sweet, but only for a second before it turned darker, juicier, like fruit on the edge of ripening. It was decadent, dangerous, and I wanted to know the kind of woman who wore it.
