Obsessed

Chapter 27

Mark stood at the bottom of the stairs, adjusting his cufflinks and glancing at the time on his phone. He exhaled sharply, then called out, "Ronnie! We need to be out the door in five minutes or we're going to be late!"

Her voice floated down from upstairs. "I'm almost ready!"

He muttered under his breath, tugging at the collar of his white shirt. These events were never his thing. Too many people, too much talking, and way too much press. And wearing a suit? Torture. He’d managed a dark tie, black vest, crisp white shirt, and black slacks. His shoes were freshly shined, but he still felt like he was playing dress-up.

He was just about to yell again when he caught movement from the top of the stairs.

Mark turned—and froze.

Ronnie stood there, a vision that quite literally stole the air from his lungs.

She wore a black and white floor-length gown that looked like it had been spun from midnight and moonlight. The deep V-neckline dipped low, revealing the graceful swell of her breasts without being indecent. The lace was floral, intricate, almost ethereal, fitted to her waist and hips like a second skin before flaring just slightly with a high slit teasing one toned leg. Thin straps clung to her shoulders, and the hem trailed just behind her like a whisper.

Her platinum blonde hair had been swept into a loose fishtail braid draping over one shoulder, soft waves framing her delicate face. A few strands curled near her cheekbones, drawing attention to her glowing skin and striking aqua-blue eyes.

Simple black eyeliner and mascara made her eyes pop, and her burgundy lipstick added the perfect edge—sweet and sultry all at once.

Mark blinked, forgetting how to speak.

"You okay?" she asked, brows arching slightly as she made her way down the steps.

"I—yeah. Just... wow." He rubbed the back of his neck and offered a lopsided smile. "You clean up alright, Summers."

Ronnie gave a little twirl. "You like it? It's been sitting in my closet for over a year. Figured it deserved a night out."

"You might start a riot with that dress."

She rolled her eyes, cheeks flushing. "Come on. We’re going to be late, remember?"

He held out his arm for her. She slipped her hand through, and he couldn't help but notice the softness of her touch. The scent of her perfume— vanilla and amber—wrapped around him, subtle and intoxicating.

"You nervous?" he asked helping her with her coat as they stepped outside.

"Terrified," she said with a smirk. "But I’ve got a good-looking bodyguard, so I’ll manage."

Mark chuckled, unlocking the passenger door for her. "Flattery’ll get you everywhere."

The drive to the event was filled with music and playful silence. Mark stole glances at her every so often, still not quite used to how beautiful she looked. He was used to seeing Ronnie in cardigans, blouses, pants suits—this version of her was like seeing starlight for the first time.

When they arrived at the grand ballroom, reporters were already clustered outside. Flashing cameras, velvet ropes, security—just another glamorous night for the city’s elite.

Mark parked and walked around to open her door.

"You ready?" he asked.

Ronnie adjusted her braid and nodded, even if her fingers were trembling slightly. "As I'll ever be."

He gently placed a hand on the small of her back as they walked toward the entrance. The warmth of his palm, steady and grounding, made her spine straighten. They passed through security and into the opulence of the ballroom.

The place was stunning—gold chandeliers dripping crystal, towering floral arrangements, black and white everything. Waiters in tuxedos glided by with silver trays, and a quartet played classical music in the corner.

Ronnie took a deep breath.

Mark leaned down to whisper, "You’re doing great. Just pretend it’s one of those mystery galas you always say are ridiculous."

She chuckled. "This is way more ridiculous."

"Come on, let’s find our table."

As they mingled, Ronnie found herself answering questions from reporters. Most were respectful, curious about her role in the case, her thoughts on the recent developments. Mark stayed close, his presence offering comfort without crowding.

Commissioner Reynolds spotted them and waved them over. "Summers, Marshalls—you both clean up better than I expected."

"Thanks, I think?" Mark said.

Reynolds raised his glass. "To the people making this city a little safer. And maybe stirring up some headlines while they’re at it."

They clinked glasses, Ronnie sipping her champagne slowly. She kept her eyes on Mark more than she meant to. Every time he laughed or leaned close to speak to her, her pulse jumped.

When the dancing started, Mark held out his hand. Ronnie stared at it for a moment.

"Don’t tell me you don’t dance," he said.

Ronnie laughed. "I don’t."

"Then it’s a good night to start."

She hesitated, but placed her hand in his. "Just don’t step on my foot. These shoes are lethal."

"You’ve seen my reflexes. I’ll survive."

They moved to the dance floor. His hand found the curve of her waist, her hand rested on his shoulder. The music was slow, melodic, something timeless. They swayed together, tension slowly melting into something else—something unspoken.

Mark looked down at her, their faces close.

"You surprise me, you know that?"

She tilted her head. "How so?"

"I thought you were all brains and analysis. Didn’t expect you to look like this, dance like this."

"I’m full of surprises."

He grinned. "Yeah. You are."

They danced until the music changed. The spell broke, but not completely. Not with the way they kept brushing fingertips, not with how Mark’s gaze kept drifting to her lips.

It was going to be one hell of a night.

The next song picked up tempo, and Ronnie laughed as Mark spun her once, his hand catching hers with an ease that surprised her. They moved together as if they’d done this before—an unspoken rhythm, the kind you don’t find with just anyone. Her laughter was genuine, free, the kind that made Mark’s chest warm.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” she said between breaths, grinning up at him.

Mark chuckled, that rare, deep sound vibrating in her ears. “I didn’t either.”

They stayed out there longer than either expected, swaying, laughing, letting loose in a way that felt dangerously close to normal. The world outside the ballroom, outside their problems, faded for a while.

Until Jackson cut in with a dramatic spin, nearly making Ronnie lose her balance.

“Mind if I steal one?” he asked, already pulling Ronnie away before Mark could answer.

Mark stepped back, brow raised but amused, as Ronnie gave him an apologetic smile. “I’ll be back,” she mouthed.

Jackson took her hands and began moving them side to side, far less gracefully than Mark, but fully confident in his goofy rhythm. “Well, well, Summers,” Jackson said, grinning. “You clean up nice.”

Ronnie smirked. “I’d say the same to you, but that tie’s committing war crimes.”

Jackson laughed. “Brutal. I like it.”

They danced through the remainder of the song, Jackson adding spins and dips that were more dramatic than necessary and earned them a few glances from other couples. Ronnie couldn’t stop laughing, especially when Jackson almost tripped over his own foot and dramatically clutched his chest like he’d been shot.

“I think I just pulled something heroic,” he said, leaning in closer. “But if I die tonight, know that your smile was worth it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ronnie muttered, cheeks flushing.

“Too much?” he teased.

“A little.” But she was smiling.

Before Jackson could continue, an announcement echoed through the ballroom speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is now being served. Please make your way to the banquet tables.”

Mark appeared at her side just as Jackson leaned in again. “Your knight’s back,” Jackson whispered, then winked at her before slipping away.

Ronnie turned to see Mark offering her his arm. “Shall we?”

With a small nod, she took it, her hand settling on the crook of his elbow. He guided her toward their table near the front of the room, and as they approached, he pulled out her chair like a perfect gentleman. Ronnie raised an eyebrow at the gesture, but smiled as she sat.

“Look at you being all charming,” she teased.

Mark leaned down slightly toward her ear. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to protect.”

Ronnie turned her head, and for a moment, their faces were inches apart again—those almost-kisses happening more frequently than either of them realized.

But Mark straightened, taking his seat beside her, and the moment passed… for now.