THE WOMAN HE HIRED

16

The moment they stepped into the ballroom, the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses washed over them. Chandeliers threw light across polished marble, casting reflections that made the room feel endless.

Immediately, guests began gravitating toward Dominic and Enzo. A senator’s aide, an old business contact, a foundation trustee—all offering handshakes, polite smiles, and compliments that carried subtle tests of loyalty.

Dominic’s posture was flawless, every word measured. Enzo, despite his usual deadpan, handled each approach with a similar grace, though Ramsi caught the faint flicker of irritation behind his calm mask whenever someone lingered too long.

By their side, Ramsi and Sage smiled politely, answering idle questions with charm that didn’t give anything away. Ramsi’s presence was controlled and cool, body language sharp enough to hint she was far more dangerous than anyone realized, while Sage’s grin and slightly teasing answers kept people off balance just enough to feel disarmed.

“Lovely gala,” a socialite murmured to Sage, adjusting her necklace. “I’ve never seen such… impeccable timing on the evening’s program.”

Sage tilted her head, lips twitching. “It’s all about execution. You’d be surprised what a little planning can do.”

Ramsi added smoothly, “And knowing where to stand helps.”

Meanwhile, Tate wove silently through the room, eyes scanning, ears tuned, taking in every subtle movement, every camera angle, every potential exit. He had already mapped the security and noted the unusual proximity of a few unknown individuals, fingers lightly tapping the tablet strapped to his wrist.

“Two points of interest near the main staircase,” he murmured into the earpiece. “North wall blind spot has rotated cameras. Could be standard, could be for him.”

Ramsi adjusted her posture slightly, her hand brushing Dominic’s arm as she whispered softly, “Keep me close. We don’t know if it’s him yet, but I can feel him watching.”

Dominic’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. “Noted.”

The night moved with practiced fluidity—handshakes, nods, polite laughs—but under the surface, every subtle glance, every angled conversation, was a probe. And Ramsi, Sage, Dominic, Enzo, and Tate were all acutely aware that in this crowd of gilded smiles and polite chatter, Hall could be observing from anywhere.

For now, they played the part of guests—graceful, charming, untouchable. But the real game was only just beginning.

The gala buzzed around them, polite laughter and the soft clink of glasses blending into a golden haze. A sharply dressed man approached Dominic, smooth and practiced in his demeanor.

“Dominic,” he said, extending a hand. “Always a pleasure. I’ve heard a lot about your latest ventures.”

Dominic shook his hand, measured, polite. “Thank you. And yours?”

The man’s gaze drifted past him, landing squarely on Ramsi. The smirk returned, sharper this time. “And you must be the woman causing all the talk. I have to say… quite captivating.”

Ramsi froze for a fraction of a second, then offered a polite nod, keeping her tone calm and professional. “Thank you,” she said, her eyes cool.

But the man wasn’t subtle. He leaned in slightly, voice lowering, smooth and suggestive. “I’d love to take you dancing later. Surely Dominic won’t mind, will he?”

Dominic’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. His fingers curled slightly at his sides, though he didn’t move. Every instinct—the same ones that kept Ramsi alive in the field—spiked instantly. The way the man leaned, the casual arrogance of assuming she was approachable, the boldness in his tone—it set a cold, sharp edge in Dominic’s chest.

“Dominic,” the man added, not noticing the shift in the air, “surely you’d agree she deserves some attention tonight?”

Dominic’s gaze flicked to Ramsi for just a heartbeat, then returned to the man. His presence went from composed to unyielding, the kind of silent warning that doesn’t need words.

Ramsi’s eyes met his, just for a moment, sensing the tension radiating off him. She remained calm, polite, professional—but aware.

The man hesitated, realizing the shift too late. Dominic didn’t have to raise a voice. The quiet authority in his posture, the subtle tightening of his shoulders, the unwavering intensity of his gaze—he was saying all that needed to be said: step back, or regret it.

Ramsi tilted her head slightly, signaling acknowledgment to Dominic with a small, composed nod, keeping her demeanor polite.

The man cleared his throat, suddenly aware he had crossed an invisible line. “Ah… of course. My apologies.”

Dominic’s lips twitched with the faintest shadow of a smile—calm, controlled, and quietly owning the room.

As the man retreated politely, Ramsi stayed close to Dominic’s side, the quiet electricity between them almost tangible. He didn’t touch her—not yet—but his presence was enough to let everyone around know that she was off-limits.

The gala carried on, but Dominic’s protective gaze never left her for long.

Sage and Enzo weaved back through the crowd, finishing up the last of their conversations and regrouping with Ramsi and Dominic near the edge of the ballroom.

Sage flopped into a nearby chair, exhaling heavily. “If I have to hear one more snobby shopping story about how some rich heiress got a limited-edition purse, I swear I’m going to vomit.”

Ramsi laughed quietly, a warm, teasing sound that cut through the tension of the evening. “You’re dramatic,” she said, shaking her head.

Sage gave her a mock glare, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her smile. “Dramatic? I am being realistic. Those stories are torture.”

Dominic glanced at Ramsi, one eyebrow rising ever so slightly at the exchange. “You two are a delight,” he muttered under his breath, tone dry, but the faint edge of amusement in his eyes didn’t escape her.

Ramsi smirked, leaning slightly toward him. “Only for you, apparently.”

Enzo rolled his eyes, straightening his cuff. “Can we focus? Gala’s still full of potential eyes and ears. And we haven’t ruled out Hall showing up yet.”

Sage waved a hand dramatically. “Fine, fine. But I reserve the right to complain about shopping stories at every future gala.”

Ramsi chuckled again, reaching over to tap Sage lightly on the shoulder. “Noted. You’ll survive.”

Dominic’s gaze swept the room, careful, calculating, but he kept flicking back to Ramsi, a faint tension still humming between them. “Alright,” he said quietly, “let’s make sure Hall doesn’t get the same entertainment value from this evening that you’re getting from the social commentary.”

Ramsi nodded, her playful smile softening into focus. “Agreed. Let’s see who’s really watching.”

The four of them moved as a subtle unit, blending charm, observation, and quiet authority—ready to play their roles while still keeping their real eyes on the prey.