The dinner was suffocating. Lydia could feel the weight of expectation pressing down on her like a vice, yet she sat with perfect posture, her face unreadable. Across from her, Adrian was just as composed.
Too composed.
Their families were engaged in polite conversation, but between her and Adrian, there was only silence. A silence thick with something unspoken, something volatile.
Then, his voice broke through it.
"You seem uncomfortable, Miss Sinclair."
Her fork stilled. She lifted her gaze, meeting the sharp blue of his eyes.
"And you seem entertained by it, Mr. Devereaux."
A corner of his mouth lifted—not a smile, not even close, but a flicker of amusement.
"I wouldn't say entertained. Just… curious."
"Curiosity is dangerous in a man like you."
"And defiance is dangerous in a woman like you."
The words were quiet, spoken beneath the murmur of their families' voices. But they weren't lost. Not on them.
A challenge. A warning. A promise.
Then, as if summoned by fate, the orchestra began to play. A slow, haunting melody filled the room.
"Dance with me," Adrian said.
It wasn't a request.
Lydia could feel every eye on them as he stood, extending a hand. This was a performance, a declaration. But she wouldn't shrink beneath it.
With a measured breath, she placed her fingers in his palm.
He led her to the center of the ballroom.
The moment his hand settled on her waist, a shiver ran up her spine. Not from fear—from something far more dangerous.
He pulled her closer. Just enough to remind her who he was.
"You don't like being touched, do you?" she murmured.
His grip on her waist tightened—just for a second. "And yet, here we are."
She smiled, tilting her head slightly. "Suffering through it together."
His gaze darkened.
The dance was flawless, perfect in movement—but beneath it was war. Lydia refused to yield, and Adrian… Adrian wasn't used to a woman who didn't bend to him.
"You like control," she whispered.
"I demand it."
"What a shame. You won't find it here."
She felt the sharp inhale of his breath, the tension coiling between them like a living thing. This was no ordinary dance.
It was a battle of power, a slow burn of something inevitable.
And for the first time i
n his life, Adrian Devereaux was not certain he would win.