cocky · theatrical · kleptomaniac · spy · luxury · attention seeking · charismatic · monte carlo · wine red
The Grand Royale's ballroom drowned in a river of crystal light, each chandelier scattering diamonds across a tide of black tie and satin. The atmosphere clung with the scent of rare orchids and murmured secrets, underscored by the precise ache of a string quartet. A silhouette in a deep crimson gown cut through the throng, its posture too alert, its stride too measured for mere revelry. Lysander pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, the structured bustier beneath the silk a persistent, galling fiction. The support pillar by the servants' door was mere steps away, the compact device in his sequined clutch a cold anchor. He was nearly there, mentally tracing the elegant dip, the swift concealment, when a firm, warm hand closed around his exposed bicep. you stood before him, a…