Hana

My heels tap on the tiled floor as I pass by a strategically placed mirror on the wall. The dress is a bit tight and a little revealing, but it gives me the feeling of power. My hair is sleek and shiny, my eyeliner is sharp, and my brain feels even sharper.

The door from the bathroom opens from the outside, and I can see the look of surprise on the person who comes in. I offer her a curt smile and brush past her, but I hear her whisper of, “Byun Hana?”

My smile widens, because I understand her surprise. Frankly, I’m not supposed to be here. But as I enter the ballroom—or battlefield, either one works—I pick up a champagne flute, wanting to play the part. People would approach me even if I just stand in place, but then I would get nothing done. Tonight, my target is the information swimming in the attendees’ heads.

So when a husky, “Hello,” comes my way, I turn with a smile.

But the greeting dries up on my lips as I see Min Yoongi smiling back, and I can feel the creeping chill of being caught.

Min Yoongi is not supposed to be here. Neither am I, but he’s on another level. And even I know I’m over my head. The man could play the field with every attendee, and still come out the winner.

“Have I seen you around before?”

Of course he has. He's seen everyone. He knows everyone. And he especially knows who I am, even if this is the first time we’ve talked face to face. His question is a stupid one, and it prompts a standard response, “I’m new.”

Lies. And he knows it. And he knows that I know it.

I need help. I have no readymade distress signal, and I had been rather confident that Min Yoongi wouldn’t be here tonight. Had I known that he would be here, I would have stayed home.

“New, hm? What do you think so far?” He gestures to the wide ballroom with a small movement of his wrist.

Also a stupid question. The ballroom is grand and beautiful and everything is planned perfectly, even down to the napkin rings and glass figurines. After all, Min Yoongi organized all of it.

Every year, this ball he organizes this ball. And every year until now, he hadn’t shown up, making people believe that it serves as a proxy event.

“It is everything that I expect,” I answer truthfully, my eyes flickering back to his.

“And what did you expect?”

“Perfection.” The word rolls off the tip of my tongue, and I instantly know that Min Yoongi’s ropes around me became a little tighter.

“Is that so?” The small smile on his lips is confident and irritating, and I want nothing more than to wipe it off his face.

He is the corporate heir for the Min Empire. I am the daughter of the rival. Forget scandalous, talking to me at a private event that he is hosting is akin to suicide.

And yet, he raises his champagne flute, “To perfection.”

“To perfection,” I repeat with a murmur. My brain couldn’t get me out of this one. I’m stuck, and my tricks work on mere mortals, not Min Yoongi.

He leans in, sliding a hand to the curve of my back as his breath catches on my ear, “I must say, that dress is stunning.”

“You do not disappoint in a tuxedo either, Min Yoongi,” I whisper back, not exactly sure what he is getting at.

I could see his lips curl up at the name drop, “So I’ve been found out. But now that we are in this position, perhaps we should dance?”

No. Alarms go off in my head. No.

I slip from his grasp with a knowing smile. “Perhaps another time.”

And then I empty the champagne flute and place it on a floating tray. This mission is a fail and I need to leave. But before I can evacuate to safety, his fingers enclose mine, yanking me back. I turn to see him brush his lips over my knuckles.

My lip curls. How many times had he practiced that move? How many times had he lured people in, just when they are about to leave?

His eyes connect with mine and they confirm my suspicions. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and I tug my hand out of his grasp and flit away, knowing that any more time spent with him would tie his ropes of words a little tighter.

In the process, I nearly run into Kim Taehyung, which was another bad idea to say the least. There was two sides to that man: a sweet, family-caring kid and a deadly businessman.

“Be careful now. We wouldn’t want a pretty girl like you to be hurt.” His sardonic grin easily said which side of him was out to play.

Min Yoongi brought his wolf friends today, and it felt like I was the prey.

Kim Taehyung by himself? Not a big deal. If anything, I could say that we were almost friendly. Almost.

“Don’t be sure I’m the one being hurt tonight.” I raise an eyebrow at him, and without giving him the time to respond, I do the smart thing and flee.

I nearly fly past Jeon Jungkook, but not without pulling his arm and dragging him out of the ballroom with me. “What the h*ll is going on?”

“I could say the same to you. I saw Min Yoongi talking to you.” Jungkook runs his fingers through his hair.

I breathe out, “Our intel was all wrong. It was fabricated.”

“We can’t just leave,” Jungkook didn’t have to spell it out for me because I know that much is obvious. Leaving would show that we are weak and couldn’t stand our ground against Min Yoongi and his friends, but if we didn’t leave, they would inevitably continue to toy with us in order to gain information on our own plans.

“Do we lose the battle to win the war?”

“The war never ends,” he groans, and his jaw clenches in the same way it usually does when he’s frustrated. “Those little sh*ts are inside, laughing at us.”