By evening, the lights dimmed, the music thumped, and the scent of alcohol filled the house.
Another party was in full swing.
Drinks were passed around, laughter echoed from room to room, and the stress of the week dissolved in a wave of unrestrained energy.
The mood was electric—hands wandered, lips met, and boundaries blurred.
Ross stood near the edge of the room, glass in hand, surrounded by his women.
They clung to him, giggling, glowing with pride and pleasure.
Their dresses were tight and low, showing off the curves he'd memorized in the dark.
They whispered in his ear, touched his chest, and kissed his neck.
He smiled, giving them just enough attention to keep them close—but his eyes were scanning.
Because Ross wasn't done.
Even in the middle of the party, even as bodies danced and the music pulsed like a heartbeat, he was stalking.
He watched the others with the calm precision of a hunter.
