Elena's hands trembled as she clutched the stem of her champagne glass. The weight of Damian Costa's gaze pinned her in place, his presence suffocating despite the sea of bodies swirling around them. The gala had been a mistake. She should never have come.
But it was too late to turn back now.
"Dance with me."
It wasn't a request. His voice was low, commanding, and laced with something dangerous. A warning. A promise.
Elena hesitated, but before she could refuse, Damian's fingers closed around her wrist. The touch was firm, electric, and when he led her toward the center of the ballroom, she followed, though every instinct screamed at her to run.
The music slowed, the soft melody wrapping around them like silk as he pulled her close. One hand settled on the small of her back, possessive, while the other held her hand in a grip that left no room for escape.
"Why me?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the music. "You could have anyone in this room."
Damian's lips curved into a smirk, but his eyes remained dark, unreadable. "But I don't want anyone else."
Her heart pounded as he guided her across the floor with effortless control. It was intoxicating, this push and pull between them, a battle she knew she was losing. She wanted to believe she could fight him, resist the pull of his gravity, but every second in his arms eroded her resolve.
"You planned this," she accused, her voice sharper now, laced with suspicion.
Damian's grip tightened. "I always get what I want, Elena. And I wanted you here."
A chill ran down her spine. This wasn't simple attraction. This was something darker, something dangerous.
"Do you think you can control me?" she challenged, tilting her chin up defiantly.
His smirk deepened, but there was no amusement in his expression. "I don't need to control you." He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "I just need you to realize you belong to me."
Elena sucked in a sharp breath, her pulse a wild drum against her ribs. "I belong to no one."
For the first time, Damian's mask cracked. Something flickered in his gaze—something possessive, primal. His fingers brushed the exposed skin of her back, sending a shiver through her body.
"We'll see about that," he murmured.
The song ended, but he didn't release her. Not yet. He studied her, his thumb tracing small, deliberate circles against her wrist, as if testing how far he could push her before she broke.
"Elena."
A new voice shattered the moment, and she turned to see Matteo Demarco approaching, his expression unreadable. Relief flooded her, but it was short-lived.
Damian's grip on her wrist turned almost punishing before he released her, his gaze locked onto Demarco with an intensity that sent ice through her veins. The air between them crackled with something unspoken, something dangerous.
"Elena," Demarco said again, offering his hand. "May I have the next dance?"
She didn't miss the warning in his eyes, nor the way Damian's jaw clenched. But she needed distance, even if it was only for a moment. She nodded, stepping away from Damian and into Morelli's waiting grasp.
But as she moved, Damian's voice brushed against her skin like a whispered threat.
"This isn't over."
She knew, with chilling certainty, that he meant it.
---
The rest of the night passed in a blur. Elena danced, smiled, played the role expected of her, but her mind remained trapped in the moment she had shared with Damian. His touch lingered on her skin like a brand, his words looping in her head like a dangerous melody.
By the time the gala ended, exhaustion weighed heavy on her limbs. She slipped out through the side entrance, hoping to steal a moment of solitude before calling for a ride home.
But she wasn't alone.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she sensed him before she saw him. Damian emerged from the shadows, his presence overwhelming in the dim glow of the streetlights.
"You're following me now?" she asked, forcing her voice to remain steady.
He stepped closer, and she had to fight the urge to retreat. "I told you," he said, his voice deceptively soft. "This isn't over."
Elena folded her arms, trying to shield herself from the intoxicating pull of him. "You don't own me, Damian."
He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his touch burning despite the cool night air. "Not yet," he murmured. "But I will."
Something inside her snapped. "You don't get to decide that."
Damian tilted his head, studying her like she was something rare, something worth breaking just to see what was inside. "You don't understand, do you?"
She swallowed hard. "Understand what?"
His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "That I don't lose."
Her heart stuttered, fear and something far more dangerous twisting in her gut. She should run, should push him away, should tell him to stay the hell out of her life.
But instead, she stood frozen, ensnared by the predator before her.
And when he leaned in, brushing his lips against the shell of her ear, she realized the most terrifying thing of all.
She wasn't sure she wanted to escape.