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There had been talk of an extravagant ball being held, a party where elites across the nation will be invited for a night of enjoyment and excess. But these influential individuals have also come for another purpose; to attend the exclusive auction and conduct illicit deals.
Aalto was tasked with infiltrating this event in order to uncover the secret dealings of one particular target: A wealthy merchant who recently accrued a massive fortune via unsavoury means.
During the weeks leading up to the event, he had been busy preparing. Gathering intel and using his connections to determine the exact time, place and date the party was hosted, was no easy task. He had to be thorough to make it through the doors, but he also needed to craft the perfect persona to lure in his unsuspecting target.
Tonight was the night of the party.
Aalto was seated on a plush chair in front of a decorated makeup vanity, dressed in a long-sleeved, floor-length evening gown. The dress was dyed in rich, midnight hues, and had a train of fabric that pooled around his feet, glimmering softly under the chandelier light. His milky skin was exposed by the backless cut of dress and draped delicately across his shoulder blades, was a silver lariat necklace with chains as fine as spun silk.
He studied his reflection in the mirror, and frowned slightly, turning his face side to side in contemplation.
'Hmm… Maybe more blush,' he thought.
He tapped the makeup brush against the palette to shake off the excess powder and in a practiced motion, carefully applied color to his cheeks. He just needed a bit of a rosy tint to emphasize his youthful glow, but not too much that he came off as unapproachable.
“You're attending the party like…that?” Calcharo asked. He was standing to the side, leaning against the wall with arms crossed as he watched Aalto do his makeup.
“Well, this is the type of woman the target likes, pretty and demure.”
“I wouldn't call you demure.”
“But you would call me pretty?”
Hearing no reply, Aalto swivelled around on his chair to face Calcharo, whose steely gaze appeared to say, ‘I’m not impressed.’
“You’re hurting a woman's feelings, you know,” Aalto said, dramatically batting his eyelashes. “Come on~ Tell me I'm pretty.”
Calcharo’s eyes roved over Aalto’s form; from the pale column of his neck down to the taper of his waist, and for a brief half-second, a flash of want flickered within those icy blue eyes.
Finally, he grumbled something that sounded very much like a quiet ‘yes.’
“I knew it! I'm the most beautiful, pretty, and demure woman around.”
He grinned in victory. Calcharo grunted and made a point of looking away, but Aalto was familiar enough with his mannerisms by now to know that it wasn't true annoyance.
With a satisfied hum, he turned back to the makeup vanity and absorbed himself into the process of applying a few finishing touches. He had to make this perfect. After all, tonight was his only shot at getting what he needed.
Calcharo did not often participate in infiltration missions, that was more Aalto's deal. He preferred a direct approach. Plans were to be executed ruthlessly and with efficient organization. He liked to complete contracts quickly and receive payments even quicker.
Part of his efficiency was owed to Aalto, whose skill with information gathering was unmatched. Good intel was valuable to a man like him and reliable intel, even more so. Their long-standing business relationship was built off of a mutual exchange; Calcharo would buy from his services often, and on occasion, Aalto would hire him in turn.
This was one such occasion.
He had been paid a handsome sum to accompany Aalto as a bodyguard to an exclusive ball. He knew it was simply a cover used by the wealthy to conduct their illicit dealings, as these events always turned out to be, but the specifics of the mission were not revealed to him.
Aalto had said: “Don't worry about the details. I'll add an extra 20% discount onto your next order, how does that sound?”
Meaning: ‘Don't ask questions because I won't answer.’
He was certain this wasn’t about simple tax evasion or money laundering, otherwise Aalto wouldn’t have felt the need to request Calcharo, feared leader of the Ghost Hounds, for backup.
His eye flicked towards the man – woman – sitting innocuously before him.
Aalto had slipped into the role of a ‘foreign heiress’ with the ease of a fish taking to water, and in an instant, ‘Aalto the informant’ disappeared beneath the surface and out appeared a feminine, slender beauty. His usual playful smirk had softened into a demure smile and his expressive, bold presence withdrew behind the facade of a guileless, noble-born lady.
Credit where credit was due, he made for a beautiful woman. His masculine features were rounded out by the makeup which instead drew attention to the softness of his lips and the fullness of his cheeks. He looked almost innocent. One pleading look and a few cajoling words, and fools would trip over themselves to divulge their dirtiest secrets to him.
He hid it well but there was a sharpness to his eyes if one knew where to look, piercing like that of a wolf’s, that betrayed the calculating person within.
Put simply, Aalto had a face that begged to be underestimated, and he knew exactly how to leverage it.
But Calcharo wasn’t a man swayed by simple begging.
Their eyes locked through the mirror. A pale blue against vibrant gold, and the air seemed to tingle with electricity.
Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Aalto parted his lips. He began to apply the rouge in smooth strokes, blending the colour into an even, pink coat. Satisfied, he pressed his lips together then released them again with a pop.
Something inside Calcharo's chest tugged at him. It was not an icy feeling warning him against danger, nor was it the uncomfortable, prickly sensation of being watched. The two of them were alone in here, he had made sure of that, and his earlier scouring through their hotel suite didn't reveal any unwelcome voyeurs or hidden listening devices either.
No, whatever it was, felt warmer.
With a click, Aalto capped the lipstick tube and tucked it into his purse as he rose from the vanity. He was halfway to the door when he paused, glancing back.
“Shall we be going then, my loyal guard?”
His voice was low and melodic. Those golden eyes were half-lidded now, beckoning.
Calcharo ignored that unnameable tugging feeling and focused on performing the job he was hired for. Silently, he nodded and that seemed to be the cue the other man was waiting for.
With a coy smile lingering on his lips, Aalto turned away. His steps were punctuated by the gentle clicking of heels on marble as he sauntered through the doorway that marked the boundary between their shared suite and the manor’s opulent halls. The length of his gown trailed after him like a sea of stars, along with the fading scent of lilies intermingled with morning mist.
Calcharo followed him closely from behind, as a faithful hound should.