Morning arrived dressed in gold, but the suite was tense in silver silence.
Arielle sat at the marble breakfast bar, a cup of black coffee in her hand she had no intention of drinking. She wore a pale gray silk robe, loosely knotted, her legs crossed high, one heel bouncing lazily.
Her phone was face-down.
She hadn't slept.
She doubted he had either.
Dominic appeared from his room exactly at 7:00 AM—no shirt, only black slacks hanging low on his hips, a towel draped around his neck, and a calm expression that infuriated her with how unreadable it was.
She didn't look up. Not at first.
But her pulse did.
"Morning," he said, voice smooth and unbothered.
"Mm," she replied, stirring her coffee. "You walk around like that often, or just when you want to make your assistant choke on her toast?"
He raised a brow as he walked past her to the espresso machine.
"Comfort isn't a crime," he said without glancing her way.
"No," she said with a little smirk. "But temptation is dangerous before caffeine."
Dominic poured his shot and sipped slowly. "Only if you give in."
She turned to face him fully then, the robe slipping just enough off her shoulder to show skin. Intentional. Measured. Calculated.
"And what makes you think I ever give in?" she asked, eyes locking with his.
He set the cup down.
"You already did," he said simply, "last night. When you opened the door."
She laughed, too loud, too fake. "Please. I opened it to tell you to back off."
Dominic gave a small, maddening smile.
"And yet… here we are."
The silence that followed was thicker than her espresso.
Then, before she could fire back, he crossed the room and set something down beside her.
A white garment bag.
She blinked at it.
"What's that?"
"Your outfit," he said. "For tonight."
She narrowed her eyes. "Outfit for what?"
"The dinner. Fundraiser. Corporate. Formal. You'll be coming with me."
She stared at him. "I don't remember agreeing to that."
"You didn't," he said coolly. "But your father did."
"And you think I'm just going to play plus-one like some obedient debutante?" she asked, standing, robe slipping further. "Dominic, I don't follow. I lead."
He stepped closer, eyes glinting.
"Then lead with class tonight," he murmured. "Or stay behind and watch another woman stand beside me."
That hit her like a slap.
She didn't know why.
Didn't know why the thought of another woman in that dress, beside him, made her suddenly feel… territorial.
She hated it.
She hated that he saw it.
"Is that supposed to make me jealous?" she whispered.
"No," he said, brushing past her. "It's meant to remind you. Everyone plays the game, Arielle. But only a few know the rules."
He disappeared into his room again, leaving her staring at the dress bag like it was laced with fire.
She reached for it with trembling fingers and unzipped it halfway.
Deep red silk shimmered beneath.
Bold. Commanding. Dangerously elegant.
It was her.
It was war paint.
It was a challenge.
And tonight… she planned to win.
The ballroom sparkled like a galaxy frozen in time—glass chandeliers dripping crystal stars, the clink of champagne glasses blending with murmured stock deals and empty laughter. Every guest was polished and practiced, dressed in threads that screamed legacy, not trend.
Dominic Raine stood near the stage, suited in classic black with a steel-gray tie. His presence alone made people straighten their spines. He didn't need to say much. His name did the talking. His silence did the intimidation.
But even he wasn't prepared for what walked through the doors.
Red.
Not just any red.
The kind of red that made danger look like seduction and seduction feel like a slow-burn dare.
Arielle.
Her gown clung like a secret, dipping low at the back, hugging her hips, and flaring into the softest silk train behind her. The slit carved high on her thigh offered fleeting glimpses with every confident step. Her hair was slicked into a bun that spoke of royalty, and the smirk on her lips? That was warpaint.
Heads turned.
Some stared too long.
Others whispered.
Dominic's jaw tightened before he even realized it.
She walked straight up to him, her expression unreadable but undeniably smug.
"You said formal," she said, eyes gleaming. "You didn't specify how hot was too hot."
Dominic glanced at her for a long beat—his gaze dipping down her frame once, deliberate and unapologetic.
"You always make an entrance?"
"Only when I want to remind the room it's mine," she replied.
He leaned in slightly, voice a whisper near her ear. "Careful, Arielle. You play with fire like you've never been burned."
She turned her head toward him, so close her lips almost brushed his cheek.
"Maybe I want to get burned," she said, then stepped past him, heading into the crowd like she owned it.
And somehow, she did.
He watched her move—each smile she gave a guest, each flick of her wrist as she lifted her glass. She was made for this world but kept trying to rebel against it. It was maddening. Alluring.
Dangerous.
By the time she circled back to him, the charity auction was in full swing. People were bidding thousands on luxury watches and private jets. Boring, predictable.
She took his arm without asking.
"What are we bidding on?" she purred.
"I don't play games with fake stakes," he said, eyes on the auctioneer.
"Good," she whispered. "Because I don't do fake. Only real trouble."
His gaze flicked to hers.
"You have no idea how close you are."
Just then, the next item was announced—a private island getaway for two, valued at half a million.
Arielle raised her paddle.
Dominic's eyes cut to her. "What are you doing?"
"Buying myself a break from your attitude."
The crowd laughed.
He didn't.
He leaned in, voice hard. "If you win that bid, you're taking me with you."
She arched a brow. "Who says I'm not?"
The room quieted as her bid was matched.
Then outbid.
She raised her paddle again.
Dominic watched her, tight-lipped.
"What?" she said. "Don't like it when a woman takes control?"
"I don't like when anyone wastes my time."
She leaned closer, her voice like velvet sin. "And yet here you are… still watching me."
Before he could answer, the gavel hit.
Sold.
Arielle smirked. "Well then. I guess I owe you a vacation."
Dominic stared at her. Not smiling. Not blinking.
"Or maybe I owe you a reminder," he said slowly, "that you don't set the rules, Arielle."
She sipped her champagne. "We'll see."