The person in question, Rose Blackwood, descended the sweeping staircase, bathed in the soft glow of the chandeliers.
She was wearing a stunning black gown, cut elegantly, that contrasted beautifully with her pale skin. Her footsteps were light, elegant, and perfectly calibrated, each one a testament to years of training.
Her eyes were a captivating shade of blue and grey, intelligent and observant, constantly scanning the room.
Klaus, who was still near the wine section, casually glanced towards the staircase.
He looked at her for a brief second, his red eyes assessing her appearance, before moving his eyes away,
returning his attention to the wine glass in his hand. Her presence did not register as particularly significant to him, merely another individual in a room full of them.
This was brief, almost dismissive glance did not go unnoticed by Rose's sharp eyes.
Her gaze, trained to observe and be observed, had immediately locked onto the striking figure of Klaus.
