Author Note:
There are moments in a relationship where you're no longer adjacent to someone's life—you're in it. This is one of those nights. A formal event that isn't quite formal, a gesture that isn't quite casual, and a line crossed without fanfare. Niv steps into Sera's world—and doesn't flinch. Neither does she.
Watch the power balance shift.
The lamp on Niv's desk glowed soft gold. Papers were spread everywhere—diagrams, annotated printouts, equations mid-collapse. He was halfway through a line of code when he heard:
"What are you doing Friday night?"
He glanced up.
Sera was curled on his couch like she owned the air. Feet tucked under her. Typing with one hand. She didn't look up.
"Nothing planned," he said. "I'll probably end up gaming a bit and then having an early night, I guess."
"An old friend's in town. Lucia. Her dad is an old friend of Dad's. They're one of our suppliers. She's hosting something. Not too formal, just… cartel-adjacent."
Niv raised an eyebrow.
She hesitated. Then looked up.
"Come with me."
That made him pause.
Not because it was dangerous—he'd walked into worse.
But because it was her asking. Not commanding. Not suggesting. Asking.
His voice was soft.
"You sure?"
"Lucia asked if I'd bring someone. I want it to be you."
"So it's a social ambush."
"It's drinks and expensive fake smiles. I need backup."
He leaned back in his chair.
"Then I'll need something to wear."
She smiled at that. Almost like she was waiting for him to say it. She pulled out a bag she had kept next to the couch.
"Already ordered."
Inside: a matte charcoal shirt, black tailored slacks, and a jacket so subtly cut it probably had a physics equation stitched into its seams. Understated. Clean. Expensive, but only if you knew where to look.
Niv stared at it like it was ticking.
"This is… not a hoodie."
From the couch, Sera didn't even look up from her laptop.
"That's the point."
He held up the jacket.
"You sure this isn't too formal?"
"It's not."
A pause.
"And it's tailored. I guessed your size."
He raised an eyebrow.
"What if you were wrong?"
"I'm never wrong."
The penthouse mirrors caught a hundred versions of her as she moved.
Sera pinned up one side of her hair, leaving the rest in soft, cascading waves. She wore a deep emerald gown—backless, sharp-cut at the waist, silk that caught light like water. No jewelry except a single obsidian ring. Her eyes were lined, but not dramatic. Lips neutral, cold.
She didn't need to try. She just was.
Behind her, Jaime stood at the edge of the room, silent as ever. His suit was clean, cut for movement. No tie. Eyes on her, then the clock, then her again.
"Is he coming?" he asked.
Sera didn't glance back. She fastened her heel.
"Yes."
A pause.
"You think it's a bad idea?"
Jaime didn't answer immediately.
"No," he said finally. "It's a very good idea."
She turned slightly, curious.
He stepped forward, voice low.
"The pistol work was one thing. But it's the way he carries himself. The silences. The movement economy. He sees terrain like muscle memory. Doesn't waste breath or posture. That's… elite training."
"So you do think he's dangerous."
"I think you're safe," Jaime said.
Sera let that sit. Then adjusted her ring.
"I need five minutes. Give me some space."
Jaime nodded once and left the room. No footsteps.
She looked at herself one last time in the mirror. Then picked up her clutch, turned, and walked out like a knife sheathed in velvet.
The convoy rolled up in quiet authority. Three cars—matte black, bulletproof, engine hums low and clean. The lead and tail car had muscle. The middle one, of course, carried the heir.
Niv stepped out of his building just as the back door of the middle car swung open.
He wore the suit Sera gave him. His hair was still a little unruly, as if he'd tried and then given up. And yet—he looked exactly right.
He paused for half a second when he saw the full setup. The reinforced glass. The unfamiliar guards—more than usual. Hard-eyed, clipped in movement, clearly not ceremonial.
He said nothing. Just slid in beside her.
Sera didn't speak immediately either. She looked... different tonight. Regal. Untouchable.
He looked over.
"So. This is just dinner with friends, huh?"
Her lips curved—something between guilt and pride.
"It's a formal casual. Old ally's daughter. You know how it is."
He glanced at the front seat. Jaime gave the smallest nod in the rearview. Even he seemed more alert.
"And the new friends?" Niv asked, gesturing at the silent guards in the trailing SUV.
"Backup," she said. "No one's going to do anything. It's just... politics."
"Mmh."
He settled back. Calm. But there was a flicker behind his eyes.
A pause.
"You wore it."
"Wasn't going to wear a hoodie," he said mildly. "That would've been disrespectful."
She smiled.
"You're learning."
He leaned his head back, eyes half-closed.
"Or maybe I just enjoy watching cartel etiquette unfold in real time."
She snorted.
And the car pulled into the city night.
The elevator opened into warmth and light.
A rooftop garden sprawled above the city—soft jazz winding through ivy-laced pergolas, candles flickering on sleek black tables. Wealth whispered here. Not loud. Not showy. Just present in every detail.
Sera stepped out first.
She didn't walk—she moved like the music had been composed for her. The other guests turned, briefly. Then looked away, like staring too long might invite risk.
Niv followed, posture relaxed but gaze sharp. He didn't look like a threat. That was the trick.
From across the terrace, a woman stood and made her way toward them.
Colombian. Late twenties. Medium height, styled brown hair, a figure sculpted more by tailors than trainers. Her makeup was flawless—professional, not playful. The emerald drop earrings were real. So was the Cartier bracelet, half-hidden by her clutch.
"Sera Marino," she said warmly, spreading her arms.
They kissed cheeks, briefly.
"Lucía," Sera smiled, a rare softness on her face. "You look incredible."
"Not as much as you," Lucía replied, drawing back. "God, you've always known how to walk into a room like you owned it. And tonight? You do."
Her eyes flicked sideways—to Niv.
"And this must be the famous mystery boyfriend. I had to see for myself if the rumors were true."
Sera arched a brow.
"And?"
Lucía held out a hand to Niv. He shook it.
"I see why you're keeping him," she said lightly. "He cleans up well."
"I was given very little choice in attire," Niv said with a faint smirk.
Lucía laughed.
There was a brief, comfortable silence. The kind only people who grew up watching chaos with a cocktail in hand could carry.
Lucía tilted her head.
"What do you do, Nivrit?"
"Graduate student. Engineering and Mathematics."
He paused.
"Also part-time chaos management."
Lucía grinned.
"Then you're already overqualified."
She glanced at Sera.
"You two look good together. And I say that as someone who's seen her crush a man's ego for complimenting her perfume wrong."
Sera gave a mock-curtsey.
Lucía turned to guide them toward a low-seated lounge area—flanked by greenery, soft lamps, and champagne already waiting.
"Come on. I've got questions. I've got stories. And I've been dying to gossip without armed ears for once."
As they walked, her glance lingered on Niv just a moment longer than politeness demanded—not romantic, not flirtatious. Just… weighing. Calibrating.
He smiled, unbothered.
She filed that away.