Chapter 7: Ambushed

"So, we meet again, Miss Blonde."

Tiffany stood stiffly across from Yuan on the dance floor, their hands in formal positions as instructed by their ever-conniving fathers. Her left hand hung at her side while her right rested reluctantly on Yuan's shoulder. Dressed in a sharp suit, he looked like a young James Bond—if Bond had an infuriating smirk and a knack for trouble.

"I can't believe you're a politician's son, Yolo," she said, emphasizing the nickname with derision. "I always knew something was off about you. Now it clicks—you were at the Academy. We must've been schoolmates."

Yuan grinned. "Guilty as charged. I told you I vaguely knew you, didn't I?"

She rolled her eyes. "You vaguely lied. What was your mission there?"

He wagged a finger teasingly. "Ah, that's classified, my lady."

Tiffany dug her nails into his shoulder, earning a sharp wince.

"By the way, if you want to keep your cover, Steffy, I'd suggest a different hair color," Yuan quipped, brushing a strand of her blonde pixie cut with infuriating nonchalance.

She slapped his hand away, glaring. "Don't change the subject! You knew who I was all along, didn't you?"

He shrugged, feigning innocence. "Come now, Miss Tiffany. We're professionals here. Why not save the drama for later and enjoy the night? We'll be eavesdropping on criminal masterminds in a few hours and sitting through endless debates. Wouldn't it be nice to… just dance?"

"You're impossible," she muttered. "But fine. If it'll keep my father happy."

"That's the spirit," he said with a grin, pulling her into the rhythm of the music.

A lively Spanish melody swept through the air—the Paso Doble, a dramatic dance inspired by bullfighting. Tiffany recognized it instantly. Her father had taught it to her as a child when she still thought he was just a charming businessman and not a puppet master with too many strings to pull.

"You've got talent," she admitted begrudgingly as Yuan led her through the steps with surprising grace.

He smirked. "Acting's part of the job, isn't it?"

"Undercover janitor, right?" she shot back.

"Principal's scholar," he corrected, spinning her under his arm. "I had access to his office—very handy."

"Still on probation, then?" she asked, her tone laced with sarcasm.

Yuan only grinned. "You know better than to expect me to spill mission details."

The crowd clapped in sync with the rising tempo as Yuan dipped Tiffany backward, his grip steady at her waist. She found herself momentarily impressed, though she'd never admit it.

"You're not bad, caballero (gentleman)," she whispered as he twirled her out and back into his arms.

"You're not so bad yourself, my gorgeous partner," he replied with a wink, earning an annoyed huff from her.

The music crescendoed, and the two moved perfectly in synchronicity, earning applause and cheers from the guests.

When the final notes played, Tiffany's father, Don Alejandro, rose and clapped thunderously. "Bravo! I'm proud of you, Tiffany," he declared with a smile that Tiffany knew was purely for show.

She forced a polite nod in return. "Gracias (Thank you), Papa."

"You two make such a striking pair. I'm sure the children will be beautiful, right, Compadre?" Don Alejandro teased, glancing at Yuan's father.

Tiffany's face darkened, but she maintained her composure, lifting a wine glass to her lips. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," she replied coolly.

Yuan leaned forward with a sly grin. "You're right, Don Alejandro. She'd make an excellent wife."

Tiffany kicked his shin under the table, nearly choking him on his drink.

"Asshole," she muttered under her breath, smirking at his pained expression.

Before the tension could escalate further, Don Alejandro and several men rose from their seats, discreetly excusing themselves to head toward the meeting chambers. "You two should follow us shortly," the Don instructed.

As their fathers disappeared, Tiffany turned to Yuan. "Your wife? Dream on."

Yuan shrugged, his smirk unshaken. "Let's just get this over with."

But before they could move, the ground shook with a deafening explosion. Glass shattered and screams filled the air as chaos erupted.

"Papa!" Tiffany cried, her eyes darting toward the source of the blast. Gunfire followed, drowning out the music as guards scrambled to shield the guests.

"Miss Tiffany, we need to move!" Yuan grabbed her arm, dragging her toward cover as bullets ricocheted around them.

Tiffany crouched beneath a table, pulling a revolver from a thigh holster hidden under her gown. With practiced precision, she fired twice, taking down two advancing attackers. "Get my father to safety!" she barked at the guards.

Yuan was by her side, ducking low. "We have to go now!"

"I'm not leaving without him!" she snapped, but Yuan tugged her forward, forcing her to retreat toward the exit. The flowing fabric of her gown snagged on debris, slowing her down. With a frustrated growl, she tore the sides, freeing her legs.

Yuan let out an appreciative whistle. "Nice legs, Blondie."

"Yuan, shut up," she shot back, glaring at him. "Focus."

"Just saying," he replied with a smirk, leading her through the chaos. "Your father's already in the chopper."

Tiffany looked up to see Don Alejandro waving frantically from a helicopter. Relief flooded her chest, but it was fleeting. "What about you?" she asked as Yuan pushed her toward the waiting guards.

"I still have to find my father. Now go!" he ordered, his voice unusually sharp.

Before she could protest, the guards hauled her toward the chopper. She glanced back, catching one last glimpse of Yuan who was already sprinting into the fray, his cocky smirk replaced with fierce grit.

And as the chopper lifted off, Tiffany gripped the edge of her seat, heart pounding. For once, she worried about the maddening man she'd just left behind.