Cassian Wolfe didn't believe in coincidences—especially not ones wrapped in red satin with eyes like a storm about to break.
From across the grand ballroom, his gaze landed on her.
The gala had become a blur of glittering dresses and empty laughter, the same parade of social climbers and masked intentions. Yet, she stood out—not just for her beauty, though that was undeniable—but because she looked like she didn't belong. Not in the way that screamed desperation. No. In the way that warned of hidden purpose.
She wasn't mingling. She was hunting.
And Cassian knew predators when he saw them. After all, he was one.
Leona kept her expression cool, her posture measured, the champagne flute in her hand untouched. She could feel his eyes on her—the infamous Cassian Wolfe—his reputation preceding him like a shadow, Billionaire, Innovator, Ruthless bastard, the man responsible for destroying her sister's life.
He looked nothing like the heartless monster she'd imagined from headlines and Maya's broken sobs. That made him even more dangerous.
His suit was charcoal black, custom, sharp enough to cut. His presence drew a quiet reverence, like everyone around him was aware of standing in the orbit of something powerful—and perhaps merciless.
When their eyes met, something unspoken crackled in the space between them.
Cassian tilted his head slightly, curiosity flickering behind eyes that had learned to conceal far more than they revealed. He made his way toward her slowly, like a lion approaching something unfamiliar but intriguing.
Leona's heart pounded, but her face remained unreadable. She had practiced this—watched interviews, rehearsed facial expressions, learned to smile like she meant it.
Now was the time to use it all.
"Enjoying the view?" she asked, arching a brow as he stopped in front of her.
"Only now," he replied, voice smooth like dark velvet. "Most of the room is predictable. You're...not."
She allowed a ghost of a smirk. "Is that a compliment or a warning?"
"Maybe both," he said. "I don't believe we've met."
"We haven't," she lied effortlessly. "But I've read about you. Cassian Wolfe. The man who turns code into gold."
"And you are?"
She extended her hand. "Leona Vale."
It was the name on the forged credentials her hacker friend had created. The identity she'd built for this very moment.
Cassian took her hand, his grip firm, but not overbearing. His skin was warm, his presence disarming in a way that made her want to flinch—and lean in—all at once.
"Leona," he said, testing the name like it was a note in a melody he wasn't sure he recognized. "Interesting name. Strong."
She tilted her head, allowing a flicker of warmth into her voice. "I like to live up to it."
He studied her for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, as if trying to decode something she hadn't said.
The orchestra swelled in the background, couples danced, glasses clinked. But for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them.
"Care to dance?" he asked.
Leona hesitated for a fraction of a second too long, then placed her hand in his.
As he led her to the dance floor, she reminded herself of the mission. She reminded herself of Maya's scars. Of every sleepless night. Every unanswered question. Every lie.
This wasn't about charm.
This was war.