ＲＥＤＥＭＰＴＩＯＮ {TONY STARK'S LITTLE SISTER FAN-FICTION}

6. ZEBEDIAH KILLGRAVE

Part 1

The drive to the ballroom was quiet again, but the tension between them was different now. Neither of them spoke, but there was an unspoken awareness of the roles they had to play—and the weight of what was at stake.

The ballroom was breathtaking, a grand space filled with glittering chandeliers, polished marble floors, and elegant guests dressed to the nines. A string quartet played softly in the corner, their music weaving through the hum of conversation and the clinking of champagne glasses.

Elizabeth's eyes scanned the room, taking in the lavish décor and the crowd. She felt a pang of discomfort, remembering how different London looked compared to her last visit. Everything seemed brighter, more alive.

Bucky motioned her to follow him, and together they stepped into the heart of the room. She could feel his presence beside her, steady and watchful, as if he were ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

As they made their way to the bar, Elizabeth's eyes landed on a man across the room. He was surrounded by a group of women, all laughing and leaning toward him as if drawn by an invisible force. His gaze was locked on her, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

Elizabeth's breath caught. "Suspicious guy, eight o'clock," she murmured in French, keeping her voice low.

Bucky's head turned sharply, his eyes widening. "You speak French?"

She smirked faintly, ignoring his question. "Focus, Hunter."

Bucky followed her line of sight, his gaze narrowing as it landed on the man. "That's him," he muttered. "Killgrave."

As if on cue, Killgrave began moving toward the exit. Bucky set his drink down and straightened, his hand brushing Elizabeth's arm. "We need to blend in. Want to dance? Act like a normal couple?"

Elizabeth hesitated but nodded. "Sure, but you'll have to teach me."

Bucky extended his gloved hand, and she placed hers in it, forgetting for a moment that it was his metal one. He gently rested his other hand on her waist, pulling her close. "Just follow my lead," he said softly.

The music shifted into a slow waltz, and they began to sway. Elizabeth looked up into his steel-blue eyes, searching for something—answers, perhaps, or reassurance. "Where did you learn to dance?" she asked quietly.

Bucky's lips pressed into a thin line. "A long time ago. Before..." He didn't finish, but she understood.

He spun her gently, her breath catching as she stumbled slightly before finding her rhythm. "You're not bad at this," she admitted.

Bucky chuckled softly. "Neither are you."

For a moment, the mission faded into the background. Elizabeth's head rested against his chest, and Bucky tightened his hold on her, wishing—just for a moment—that they weren't here, that this wasn't their reality.

But the moment shattered when his eyes caught what seemed to be Killgrave and his guards slipping out the door. He reluctantly released her. "Could you grab me a drink?" he asked, his voice steady but his eyes focused on the exit.

Elizabeth nodded, sensing the shift in his demeanor. "Sure."

As Bucky disappeared into the crowd, Elizabeth turned toward the bar, her fingers brushing against the clutch at her side. When she got to the bar, a familiar man walked past the doorway. Peeking her interest, Elizabeth followed.

She stepped out of the ballroom, her clutch in hand, her heels clicking softly against the polished marble floor. The air was cooler in the hallway, but the weight on her chest didn't ease. She gripped the clutch tightly, her fingers brushing over the small safety button on its side—her only lifeline if things went wrong. The thought should have reassured her, but it didn't.