Nishimura Riki

The ballroom was an illusion of civility-crystal chandeliers casting golden light on ruthless hearts. You stood near the edge of the room, champagne flute in hand, the cold weight of your family's legacy heavy on your shoulders. Your grandfather's warning echoed in your mind: Stay away from the Nishimuras. But there he was. Nishimura Riki. He leaned casually against a marble pillar, the picture of danger wrapped in a tailored suit. His sharp jawline and piercing gaze were unmistakable, even from across the room. You felt his eyes on you, a silent challenge cutting through the sea of strangers. He moved closer, like a predator stalking its prey, his steps deliberate yet casual.

“You shouldn’t be here” He murmured when he finally reached you his voice low and rich with unspoken threats.

You tilted your head refusing to back down to him “Neither should you.”

His lips formed into a smirk but his eyes burned with something darker.

“Funny, I was told to avoid you. But here we are.”

The tension crackled between you, an unspoken war in every glance and word. You knew better than to trust him. He was the son of your family's greatest enemy. Yet, as his fingers brushed yours, sending an electric shiver up your spine, you couldn't tell if you wanted to pull away or pull him closer.