The music faded into something slower, heavier, like the bass itself had grown a heartbeat. The courtyard was alive—glittering, thrumming, every corner humming with whispers and stares. And yet Simran felt the world narrow to three pairs of eyes, each carrying its own gravity.
Junaid had left her in the center of the dance floor, and though his touch was gone, the memory of it still tingled along her spine. She hated that. She hated how his absence felt louder than the music. But she wouldn't chase him—not tonight. Tonight, she had walked into this masquerade with her chin high, her mask gleaming, her dress daring the world to look. She wasn't about to shrink now.
"Brave," came a voice at her side, deep and laced with something unspoken.
Simran turned, her gaze meeting Alzan's. He leaned casually against a column, his glass dangling from his fingers, but his eyes betrayed none of that ease. They had sharpened the second she walked in, and they hadn't left her since.
"Dancing with him first." His lips curved, though the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "I should've known."
She tilted her head, letting the crimson stone in her mask catch the light. "You make it sound like a crime."
"Not a crime." He leaned in, his voice dropping low. The scent of spice and musk clung to him, brushing against her skin. "A strategy. But be careful—playing with fire leaves marks."
Her pulse skipped, but she refused to show it. Instead, she smiled, slow and steady. "And what makes you think I'm afraid of marks?"
For the briefest moment, his composure cracked. The smirk froze, and his jaw clenched before he laughed quietly, pulling back. "You really don't know what you've started tonight."
Before she could answer, another presence cut through.
"Started?" Zain's voice carried a teasing lilt, lazy but calculated. He approached with that maddening smirk that never seemed to leave his face. "No, Alzan. She hasn't started anything." His eyes swept over her slowly, deliberately, like he wanted her to notice every second of it. "She's baiting."
Her breath caught. Baiting.
Zain tipped his head at her, his grin widening when he saw the flicker in her eyes. "Congratulations," he murmured, his tone both mocking and admiring. "You've become the most dangerous distraction in this courtyard. And I don't even think you're trying."
Her chin lifted. "Who says I'm not?"
That stopped him. His brows rose, and then a flash of teeth appeared in his grin. "Then I almost pity Junaid. Almost."
Almost.
Her heart betrayed her. It kicked hard at the sound of his name, dragging her gaze across the courtyard before she could stop herself.
And there he was.
Junaid stood near the edge, half in shadow, half in the spill of golden light. His glass sat abandoned on the table beside him. His arms were folded now, his stance deceptively relaxed, but she saw it. The smallest flicker—the tightening of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes—when he noticed Zain leaning too close, Alzan still circling.
The air between all of them thickened. The music pulsed lower, urging heat into every glance, every word.
Simran realized something then, with a shiver that wasn't entirely fear. This wasn't just a party anymore.
It was a game.
And the next move was hers.
---
Her lips curved into the faintest smile as she turned back to Zain. "If I'm baiting," she said softly, "then maybe you should prove you're worth catching."
Zain's smirk deepened, his hand already extending, palm open. Alzan stiffened, his glass hitting the table harder than necessary. Across the courtyard, Junaid's jaw locked.
Perfect.
Simran slid her hand into Zain's, letting him lead her into the dance space. The crowd shifted, whispers trailing behind her, but she kept her chin high, eyes glittering behind the mask. She could feel Junaid's stare burn into her even from across the floor, and that was exactly what she wanted.
The music wrapped around them, slow and dangerous. Zain's hand settled against her waist, bold and confident, pulling her closer than propriety allowed. "So," he murmured, his lips tilting near her ear, "is this how you plan to play it?"
She matched his grin. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just testing the waters."
His laughter was low, smooth. "Careful, Simran. You test too much, and you'll drown."
She leaned in, close enough for her mask to brush against his. "Then I guess I'll find out who's willing to pull me out."
The tension between them sizzled, drawing curious eyes, but beneath it all, she felt the heat of another gaze sharper, heavier. Junaid hadn't looked away. Not once.
Zain twirled her, the slit of her dress flashing as she spun, the silk clinging to her frame like liquid wine. When he pulled her back in, his grip was firmer, his smirk wicked. But her eyes—her eyes weren't on him anymore.
They were locked on Junaid.
And that was when he moved.
---
One moment Junaid was still, a shadow watching from the sidelines. The next, he was cutting through the crowd with the kind of controlled precision that made people part without question. His presence alone bent the air, turned heads, silenced whispers.
Zain hadn't even registered him until Junaid was there, his hand sliding between them, firm and unyielding.
"I'll take it from here," Junaid said, voice low, even, but threaded with steel.
Zain chuckled under his breath, though his hand reluctantly let go...