The music from the gala wrapped around Isabella like a velvet cloak, dark and suffocating. She could feel the weight of every note, every stare directed at her, and—most notably—Victor's gaze, like a shadow brushing over her skin. Even as they danced, their bodies an inch apart, the heat between them was undeniable. Her movements were controlled, deliberate, but beneath the surface, there was a storm of thoughts she couldn't chase away.
Victor Blackwood. The man she loathed and desired in equal measure.
She had come to this event with a purpose—to catch his attention, to find his weakness. But tonight? Tonight, the game was different. There was no strategy in her steps as they swirled across the floor. There was only the pulse of the music and the way his hand rested on the small of her back, the warmth of his fingers sending shocks through her body. He was a predator, always calculating, always observant. She was a puzzle to him, one he was determined to solve, and yet...
Her breath caught as his eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, everything around them blurred. The crowd, the laughter, the conversation—none of it mattered. It was just them, trapped in a dance of their own making.
Victor leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke. "Is something bothering you, Isabella?" His voice was low, taunting, a blade wrapped in velvet. "Or perhaps you're distracted by someone else?"
Her pulse quickened, and she struggled to keep her composure. "I don't know what you mean, Victor," she replied smoothly, her words a practiced mask. "Are you worried I'm enjoying myself too much?"
He smirked, a dangerous gleam in his eye. "Enjoying yourself?" He stepped even closer, the heat of his body a threatening presence. "Perhaps. But I think you're forgetting something, Isabella."
She couldn't help but feel the weight of his words, the way they hung between them like a challenge. There was something he wasn't saying, something that made her wonder if she was more than just another game to him.
Then, she saw him.
Marcus.
Standing near the bar, his gaze fixed firmly on her and Victor, as if he could sense the storm building between them. Isabella's heart skipped a beat as she caught his eye. There was a flicker of something in his expression—an emotion she couldn't quite place. Was it anger? Possessiveness? The two men were too similar, and yet so different, and she couldn't help but feel like she was being pulled in two directions at once.
Victor noticed her shift in attention and followed her gaze. The smirk that had been on his face faltered for a moment, replaced by a sharpness that made Isabella's stomach tighten. His hand, still on her back, tightened slightly, pulling her closer as if to stake his claim.
"Does he always look at you like that?" Victor's voice was cold now, his words laced with an edge of something darker.
Isabella forced herself to focus on Victor, keeping her expression neutral. "Marcus is... protective," she said, trying to downplay the tension she felt. "But you shouldn't worry about him."
Victor's lips twisted into a thin smile, but there was no warmth in it. "I'm not worried. Not yet, at least."
But Isabella could feel the storm inside him, the way he measured every movement, every glance. It was as if he could see right through her, through her defenses. And in that moment, she realized that Victor was not only calculating her every move—he was also measuring Marcus's.
"Protective?" Victor repeated, the word slipping from his mouth like a dangerous warning. His fingers traced the curve of her back, and though it was an innocent touch, it sent an electric jolt through her.
The music swirled around them, but the tension between the three of them was suffocating. Isabella could feel the weight of Marcus's eyes from across the room, the possessiveness that radiated from him in waves. He wasn't just watching; he was waiting. Waiting for something to happen, for one of them to slip, for Isabella to make her choice.
Victor's eyes flicked back to Marcus, his expression hardening. "He won't be so protective when he realizes you're no longer his to keep, Isabella," Victor said, his voice a low growl. "You're not a possession. Not anymore."
Isabella's heart hammered in her chest. She couldn't ignore the way Victor's words dug beneath her skin, stirring something dark within her. She wasn't a possession. She wasn't anyone's to control. And yet...
She could see the way Marcus's eyes darkened when he noticed the subtle shift in Victor's posture. It wasn't just jealousy—it was something more primal. The man was territorial. He always had been.
Victor, for his part, didn't seem to care. He was a storm, a force of nature, and if anything, he seemed to take pleasure in Marcus's discomfort. It was as though the very idea that he could make Marcus uncomfortable amused him.
The music reached a crescendo, but Isabella barely heard it now. All she could focus on was the electrifying presence of Victor pressing against her, and the way Marcus's gaze had turned cold, possessive, calculating.
She glanced back at Marcus, hoping to see a flicker of the familiar warmth he always offered her. But tonight, there was nothing but the cold, sharp edge of a man who didn't like to lose.
Victor must have sensed her momentary distraction, because his hand slid down her back, pressing her firmly against him. "No one's going to take you from me, Isabella," he whispered, his lips dangerously close to her ear. "No one."
She was torn, caught between the two men, the two forces. Marcus, who had always been her anchor, her constant. And Victor, who was everything that scared her—and yet, everything that drew her in.
The music stopped, the applause around them suddenly deafening, but Isabella barely registered it. Her thoughts were scattered, her emotions a tangled mess of desires and fears. And when Victor finally pulled back, his gaze never leaving hers, she knew—this was just the beginning.
The beginning of something dangerous. The beginning of something she couldn't walk away from.