Felix stared at the outfit hanging from the clothing rack Kailith’s team had brought with them, his pulse already tripping faster just from looking at it. He sat in front of the portable vanity the makeup artist had set up in his small bedroom, the rest of the room swallowed by garment bags, hanging lights, palettes, brushes, and the quiet, efficient bustle of people who looked like they belonged in another world.

Clara had shown him dozens of options. Some were elegant, some were safe, some were expensive enough to make his stomach twist. He had chosen this one with intent.

This was the outfit that would irritate Kailith the most.

He could already picture it, Kailith’s narrowed eyes, the set of his jaw, that dangerous stillness he got when something got under his skin. Felix almost hoped Kailith would take one look at him and cancel the entire gala plan on the spot. Let him walk away. Let him decide Felix was too much trouble for public appearances. Felix would deal with the fallout later.

The thought should have scared him. Instead, it made heat coil low in his stomach.

“Stand up,” one of the men said.

Felix rose, and they moved around him with the kind of practiced precision that made him feel strangely helpless. One of them lifted the shirt as though it were something precious, the stones sewn into it catching the light with a soft, delicate click. The fabric looked almost too fine to touch. He guided Felix into it with careful hands, then took his time buttoning each closure one by one, as though he enjoyed making Felix wait.

That patience did things to Felix he did not want to think about.

Next came the garter belt, lacy and sleek against his thighs, pinning the shirt in place with an intimate kind of fussiness that made his skin warm. Then the pants followed, tailored to sit low on his hips, smooth and sharp and fitted so perfectly they seemed designed to make him forget how to breathe. They lengthened his legs, narrowed his waist, and made him feel more exposed than he would have in anything less revealing.

When they were done, he turned to the mirror.

He flushed.

The makeup was subtle, almost impossible to notice at first glance, and that somehow made it more dangerous. He had never worn makeup before. He had been terrified it would look wrong on him, too much, too obvious, like he was trying and failing to be someone else. Instead, it made him look polished in a way that unsettled him. His lips looked fuller. His eyes were softer, dreamier, the faint shading at their edges giving him a look that was almost languid. His skin looked smooth and luminous, almost porcelain under the lights.

And the shirt—

The cream satin draped over him in a way that felt indecent despite how elegant it was. The open back plunged down his spine in a long stretch of bare skin, the jeweled detailing catching every flicker of light and scattering it across his shoulders.

He looked beautiful.

That realization hit him hard enough to leave him silent.

Nervous, yes. Uneasy, definitely. But beautiful too. Like an omega dressed to be seen at a gala full of rich, polished people who would know exactly how to stare without being caught.

When Kailith arrived, the air in the room changed.

The second his gaze landed on Felix, he stopped in the threshold.

His eyes moved over Felix in one slow, deliberate sweep, from his face to the open back of the shirt, to the line of his waist, to the low sit of the pants. His expression didn’t shift much, but Felix saw the change all the same. The narrowness of his eyes. The pause in his mouth. The way his shoulders went still, as if the rest of the world had just dropped away.

“What are you wearing?” Kailith asked.

Felix gave a small, uncertain smile, suddenly aware of every inch of exposed skin. “Do you like it? It’s designer. Someone whose name I can’t pronounce.”

The only thing Felix got from Kailith was a subtle clench of his fist at his side. No scowl, no sharp remark, no public display of irritation. Just the perfect, controlled expression of a man who knew exactly how to behave in front of his staff. The good president. The polished version. The one who gave nothing away.

“Let’s go. We’re getting late,” Kailith said, already turning toward the car.

Felix followed, bending to slip on the black shoes that matched his outfit perfectly.

The car ride was tense in a way that made Felix’s skin itch. For some reason, Kailith sat as far from him as the seat allowed, one shoulder angled away, his attention buried in his phone. When Felix glanced over, he saw him typing out an email, expression unreadable, face lit faintly by the screen.

It should have annoyed him.

Instead, it made him more aware of the silence between them.

By the time they arrived at the gala, a line of expensive cars already crowded the driveway outside the auditorium. The whole place glittered with wealth before Felix had even stepped out. The moment the door opened, the cameras found them.

Flashes erupted so fast Felix barely had time to breathe.

The noise hit him all at once. Voices. Calls. Lenses turning. Bright white lights stabbing at his face until the world seemed to splinter into glare and shadow. He froze for half a beat too long, his footing slipping on the edge of the curb.

Then Kailith was there.

His hand caught him by the waist, fingers brushing over the bare skin between the jeweled chains at Felix’s back, and the touch sent a sharp, traitorous shock straight through him. It was nothing more than a brief graze, but it felt intimate under the blinding attention of thousands of cameras.

Felix jerked away on instinct.

Kailith’s jaw tightened, but he did not let the smile slip from his face. Not in front of the press. 

“Don’t do that,” he murmured through that polished smile.

Felix swallowed, too aware of the cameras, too aware of the heat still lingering where Kailith had touched him. “Do what?” he muttered, not entirely sure how he was supposed to stand, breathe, or exist under all these eyes.

“Pull away,” Kailith said softly, still smiling for the cameras. “For once, Felix, behave.”

The word should have meant nothing.

Instead, it made Felix’s heart jump so hard it nearly hurt. His pulse fluttered like it had gotten loose inside his chest, frantic and helpless.

“I can’t see a thing,” he grumbled, blinking against the brightness.

“Follow my lead,” Kailith said, and guided him toward the red carpet, stopping before the sponsor wall beneath the charity logo, all sleek branding and impossible wealth, the kind of event Felix could never have imagined attending on his own.

Kailith stepped close enough that Felix could feel the warmth of him through the space between their bodies. His mouth hovered near Felix’s ear, and while the cameras kept flashing, he whispered, “Smile.”

Felix forced his lips into something that might pass for one.

Then he felt Kailith’s fingers brush the hem of his low-slung pants from behind, light and deliberate and devastating. Gooseflesh broke out over his skin in an instant.

“You knew exactly what this outfit would do to me,” Kailith murmured, voice low enough to sound almost tender. “And you wore it anyway.”

Then he pulled back and smiled at the cameras like he hadn’t just left Felix trembling in place.

The flashes kept going. The crowd kept watching. And Felix stood there like he had been caught in headlights, too stunned to move, too aware of every camera and every gaze to pretend he wasn’t unraveling.

Eventually a coordinator stepped in to guide them away from the press and into the gala proper.

The second they crossed the threshold, the mood shifted.

Inside, the guests stared openly, then pretended not to. Whispered behind jeweled hands and champagne flutes. Their glances slid over Felix like needles under skin. He straightened automatically, trying to look composed, trying to look like he belonged there, but every passing look seemed to strip a little more certainty from him.

Maybe the dress had been a bad idea after all.

That thought settled in his chest like a stone.

Kailith was pulled away by a cluster of officials and donors, and the second Felix lost that steadying hand at the small of his back, the room seemed to close in around him. The warmth vanished. So did the brief, dangerous sense that he belonged to someone here.

He stood near the edge of the crowd, trying to look calm, when he heard the voice.

“Is that his mate?”

It was soft, male, and sharp with contempt.

Felix turned and found an omega staring at him from across the room, his expression pinched with open disdain. His gaze skimmed over Felix’s bare back, the jeweled straps, the way the shirt clung to his chest and waist, and his mouth curled in a sneer that made heat flare in Felix’s face.

“You look like a whore,” the man said, lifting his champagne with the lazy cruelty of someone who thought he could say anything and get away with it. “You should act like the president’s mate, not his mistress.”

The words landed like a slap.

Felix’s jaw tightened. For one reckless second, he wanted to march over there and put the man in his place. Instead, he lifted his chin and let his voice come out steady enough to hide the way the insult had already gone under his skin.

“Well, no matter what I act like, at the end of the day I’m his mate. So show some respect to the future first omega of the Jovovian House.”

The omega’s jaw worked once. Then he rolled his eyes and walked away.

Felix told himself not to care.

He failed.

The words kept circling in his head, ugly and sticky, even as he tried to breathe through the humiliation. He hated that they mattered. Hated that some stranger’s opinion could still get under his skin so easily.

When Kailith returned, Felix was already close to snapping.

“I should go home,” he said without preamble.

Kailith stopped beside him, reading his face in an instant. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Felix’s voice came out too tight, too sharp. “Just take me home.”

Kailith’s gaze moved once, taking in the room, the staring guests, the tension knotted hard in Felix’s shoulders. Something hardened in his face.

“Look at me,” Kailith said.

Felix didn’t. He looked down at his shoes instead, the expensive designer pair suddenly feeling ridiculous, like they were mocking him for standing here pretending to belong.

“Felix.”

The way Kailith said his name made it sound like a command.

Felix hated that his body responded before his pride did. He lifted his head and met those storm-dark eyes.

“You are here as my mate,” Kailith said, voice quiet but edged with steel, “and I will not let you feel lesser because of someone else’s mouth. It reflects on me.”

Felix’s cheeks went hot all over again. “Can you stop thinking about yourself for one second? I have feelings too, you know. And those feelings do get hurt.”

Kailith’s jaw ticked. “Who made you uncomfortable?”

“Does it matter?” Felix snapped.

Kailith’s expression shifted, then he reached out and placed his palm beneath Felix’s chin, tilting his face up with maddening gentleness. Felix’s breath caught.

Then Kailith kissed him.

Right there. In front of everyone.

Felix made a startled sound against his mouth, shock flaring bright and hot through him. Kailith’s arm came around his waist, pulling him in close, holding him there as if the room itself had disappeared. The kiss was firm, possessive, unmistakable. No tongue. Nothing so obviously scandalous. But that didn’t make it any less devastating.

If anything, that restraint made it worse.

The room exploded into whispers and flashing cameras. Lights burst around them, catching every angle, every second, every impossible inch of Felix being kissed by the president in the middle of a gala full of staring strangers.

When Kailith finally pulled back, Felix was burning with mortification.

“Are you insane?” he hissed.

Kailith’s mouth curved with dangerous calm. “You looked like you needed reminding.”

Felix turned away so fast the room blurred around him. He could barely hear the murmurs behind him as he pushed through a side corridor and found a smoking room, his hands shaking with fury and embarrassment.

A second later, Kailith followed.

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound cracking through the concrete space.

“Do you enjoy humiliating me?” Felix snapped, whirling around to face him. “Do you think you can do whatever you want because you are a Presidential Candidate…a Dimyra?”

Kailith’s jaw tightened. “I did what I wanted because someone was disrespecting you.”

“That’s not your decision to make.”

“It is when you’re standing there looking like someone kicked your dog.”

Felix gave a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “And that’s your answer? Show your ownership on me?”

Kailith stepped closer. “Well, I do own you, don’t I, Felix?”

Felix’s hands curled into fists. “I want to kill you.”

He planted his palm against Kailith’s chest, intending to shove him back, but Kailith caught his wrist and pressed his own hand over Felix’s, drawing him closer instead.

Felix’s breath caught.

This kiss was nothing like the one in the courtyard. That one had been a statement. This one was a collision.

Hungry. Messy. Hot enough to erase thought.

Kailith’s tongue pushed in, not gentle, not asking, and Felix should have stopped him. Should have shoved him away. Should have remembered where they were.

Instead, he opened for him.

His body betrayed him with sickening ease, leaning into Kailith’s hands, arching into the pressure, letting himself be touched and tasted and unraveled. Kailith’s fingers slid lower over his back, dangerous at the hem of his pants, the contact sending a shiver right through him.

Felix froze when Kailith’s hands found the hook at his waistband.

“I’ll be quick,” Kailith whispered against his mouth. “Please.”

Felix swallowed hard. “We’re in a public place, Kailith.”

“I know,” Kailith said, voice rough with need. “But if I don’t have you right now, I might combust.”

Felix closed his eyes, furious and breathless and aching all at once. He was angry at this man. Furious enough to throw him through a wall. But his body wanted what Kailith was asking for, wanted it with a humiliating, traitorous intensity.

“You better make this quick,” Felix said, voice shaking as he let his pants fall.