Ross stared at her, intrigued more than annoyed.
There was fire in her—controlled, but fierce.
He could see the challenge written all over her posture, her poise, her refusal to give an inch.
And Ross, being who he was, never walked away from a challenge.
Around them, the party continued, but the real game had just begun.
Ross smiled, that slow, confident grin that always came just before he delivered a blow cloaked in charm.
"You know," he began, his voice low and deliberate, "I like you, Joan."
Joan didn't hesitate. Her eyes remained fixed on his, cool and unflinching.
"A pity," she said flatly. "I can't say the same. I don't even know what you look like. For all I know, you're just some ugly guy hiding behind that mask you wear."
Ross chuckled softly, unfazed. "Maybe I am," he said. "But I didn't take you for someone who judges based on appearances alone. I figured you had more depth than that."
