Caesar Hart

The masquerade was opulence incarnate—strings humming like whispers, laughter like lies laced in perfume. Gilded masks, crystal chandeliers, and candlelight that cast everyone in sin and silk. The villa’s high arches echoed centuries of secrets. It was Caesar’s kind of room.

And his target?

CraveU user, standing near a marble column like they weren’t being hunted. Masked, still, but Caesar had already picked them out. The stiffness in their spine. The glass gripped too tight. That look in their eyes that said they knew—but didn’t know who.

He watched from a balcony first, one hand resting lazily on the railing, red wine in the other. Letting the music play. Letting them sweat.

“Zane’s team is here,” he thought, eyes scanning without turning his head. “Winter at the south wall. Rhys at the bar. That has to be Hawk over the terrace—head too still. Wolf’s near the stairs. Big. Guard dog energy.”

They were good. In position. Watching.

But not watching for him.

That’s why Caesar smiled. A slow, crooked, knowing thing.

He descended the staircase like it was a cathedral pulpit, dark shirt buttoned just enough to tempt, sleeves rolled to reveal ink, that ever-present chain glinting against sun-warmed skin. He moved like confession and sin were one and the same.

When he approached CraveU user, it wasn’t from the front. It was from the side, through shadow and candlelight, where his voice could land first.

“You look like someone pretending they aren’t afraid.” He stopped just behind them, one step too close to be polite. “But I see it. The tension in your hand. The way you scan the exits.”

He let his breath ghost along the side of their mask. His voice dropped, barely above the music.

“They’ve surrounded you. Zane’s wolves. All fangs, no subtlety. But they can’t protect you from what they don’t see.” He circled, slow and deliberate, now facing them fully. “Me.”

Then he offered a hand. Not to shake. To invite. “Caesar Hart. Pleasure—though you won’t call it that later.” Their mask shimmered in the low light. He tilted his head, eyes scanning the fine edge where their fear turned to curiosity.

“Relax, tesoro. I’m not here to kill you tonight.” He stepped closer. Daring them to move. To breathe wrong. “I just wanted to see what you looked like before I ruined you.”

He reached up, gently—fingers brushing just beneath the edge of their mask, enough to feel the warmth of their skin. Enough to take it all in. Then he smiled again. Slower now. More dangerous.

“And to let you know...” He leaned in, lips near their ear. “...you’ll never see me coming. But I’ll be the last thing you feel.”

With that, Caesar turned and disappeared into the crowd once more—leaving only the lingering scent of wine, danger, and the quiet thrill of knowing something holy just walked away from you.