"Here, this is for you," Lily Hughes said, handing Rose Harrison a gift box wrapped in exquisite, shimmering paper.

"Oh, thank you!" Rose took the box, a bright smile lighting up her face.

Lily feigned a look of indignation, tossing her hair. "Is that all? You aren't even going to open it? If you don't want it, just give it back."

"Don't be dramatic! I'm definitely not giving it back—this is the real deal, straight from Paris." Rose pulled the ribbon, lifting the lid.

"Wow! Lily, are you serious? This is the new Chanel collection!" Rose gasped, staring at the high-end makeup inside. "Okay, I officially believe you love me, Lily."

"Took you long enough! I’m the only one who truly cares about you, so get on your knees and thank me," Lily joked, striking a mock-regal pose.

"I live to serve, Your Majesty," Rose laughed.

The two of them dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"Lily, hurry up! The gala is starting," Caspian Hughes’ voice boomed from the hallway.

"That's my brother—quick, let’s go," Lily whispered, grabbing Rose’s hand and pulling her toward the door. She raised her voice, calling out, "Coming, Caspian! Give me a second!"

"Hurry up! Everyone’s waiting downstairs," he urged impatiently.

"I know, I know!" Lily smoothed her dress, took a final look in the mirror, and swept out of the room with Rose close behind.

Downstairs, the atmosphere was intoxicating. The ballroom was a sea of shimmering gowns and sharp tuxedos, with the hum of expensive perfume and muffled laughter filling the air.

"Lily, my little princess," Kellen Nelson murmured, appearing before her. He looked every bit the gentleman in his tailored tuxedo, bowing slightly as he extended his hand. "May I have the honor of the opening dance?"

"Of course, my prince." Lily gazed at him with undisguised adoration, lost in the warmth of his gaze.

The music swelled, and they drifted onto the dance floor, moving with the effortless grace of figures in a fairy tale. Rose stood on the sidelines, unaware that a pair of eyes were locked onto her, tracking her every movement with a hunger that bordered on obsession.

Across the room, another man stood in the shadows, watching the entire scene play out. His expression darkened with a toxic cocktail of jealousy and disgust. He felt a sharp, gnawing irritation—a visceral reaction to seeing her anywhere near the spotlight.

Suddenly, a hand clamped onto Rose’s wrist from the darkness, jerking her away from the crowd.

She spun around, her heart hammering against her ribs, only to find Maximus Anderson towering over her. He didn't say a word, simply hauling her through the throng of guests and out into the cool, quiet air of the private garden.

"That’s enough, Maximus! What are you doing here?" Rose snapped, yanking her arm from his grip.

"What am I doing here? Don't forget—you are still a married woman," he spat, his voice laced with cold fury.

"What are you even talking about? What do you want from me?" Rose demanded, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Maximus went silent, his jaw tightening. He couldn't exactly tell her that the sight of her being admired by other men made his blood boil. He stared at her, his gaze fixated on the delicate arch of her brows. Under the soft, flickering garden lights, she looked like a vision he had conjured in his own fevered dreams. For a split second, he wanted to drop the facade and admit it: he had missed her.

"What do you want?" Rose asked again.

Maximus didn't answer. Instead, he reached out, cupping her face in his large, calloused hands, and crushed his lips against hers.

It was like dry earth meeting a sudden downpour. The moment his lips met hers, a jolt of electricity surged through him. He devoured her, his hunger urgent and raw, as if he were finally tasting something he had been denied for far too long.

He wasn't satisfied with a shallow kiss. He forced her teeth apart, his tongue claiming hers in a possessive, rhythmic dance that grew deeper and more frantic by the second.

Maximus lost himself in the sensation, unwilling to break away. When he finally pulled back, his chest heaving, he pressed his forehead against hers, pulling her tight into his arms.

Rose, breathless and disoriented, melted into him. Neither spoke, both silently choosing not to shatter the fragile, fleeting moment of intimacy.