Page 123 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
“What’s your response to General Kel’s comments about privatized military ethics?”
“Will the Reaper be attending with you tonight?”
That last one cuts through the noise like a blade.
I pause on the last step.
Smile wider.
But I don’t answer.
Let them wonder.
Inside, the ballroom is a sea of opulence—glass sculptures suspended midair, servers weaving through the crowd like precision drones, music low and expensive. I take a flute of champagne from the nearest tray and nod at the delegate from the Helix Cluster, who already looks like he’s rethinking last quarter’s strategy. Good.
I make it halfway to the inner circle of donors and execs before I feel it.
That shift in temperature.
Thatpull.
Then I hear it—heels on polished marble, slow and deliberate, each step sounding like a countdown.
The room falls silent.
Grau walks in.
Not sneaks. Not flanks.Walks.
Fully armored. Full Reaper regalia.
The matte black plating gleams under the chandelier light, engineered elegance wrapped around lethal promise. His helmet is off, tucked under one arm, revealing that war-sculpted face and eyes that don’t blink unless you give them reason.
There’s a breath held in collective terror.
He doesn’t smile.
He doesn’t bow.
He walks straight to me like he owns every soul in this building and is only choosing not to collect tonight.
I hear someone gasp when he brushes past a senator without looking.
I step toward him before anyone else can.
“Didn’t realize it was a dress-up affair,” I say lightly, voice pitched just enough to carry.
Grau raises one brow. “You’re lucky I didn’t bring a sword.”
I smile at that. “Next time, maybe lead with a warning.”
“I did. You didn’t answer.”
My smile turns into something feral. “I wanted the drama.”
We stare at each other, and in that moment, the rest of the room stops mattering. The music. The flashbulbs. The whispers.
I reach for his arm.
