Elena didn't want to attend the charity gala.
She'd told Adrian as much, twice — once over breakfast and again in the car — but both times he had only glanced at her with that unreadable calm of his and said, "You're my wife. They'll want to see us together."
She had almost said I'm not your wife yet but something in his tone had stopped her.
The Palazzo Ferini glittered under a thousand lights, its marble steps dotted with tuxedos and evening gowns. Photographers lined the entrance, their lenses flashing like miniature lightning strikes. Adrian's hand was a steady pressure at her back, guiding her through it all like he was steering a ship through dangerous waters.
Inside, the ballroom was a cathedral of gold and shadow. A string quartet played something slow, the kind of music you didn't dance to so much as glide. Crystal chandeliers poured soft light over polished floors. The air smelled faintly of champagne and money.
Elena was already scanning for an escape route when she saw him.
Rafael Conti.
He stood near the bar, laughing with two men she didn't know. The same laugh she'd once fallen asleep to, tangled in sheets that smelled of salt and smoke. He hadn't changed — still broad-shouldered, still carrying himself like the room owed him something. But his eyes… when they found hers, the laughter died, replaced by something sharper.
Adrian noticed. She felt the shift in him before she saw it — the way his body tightened beside her, the way his gaze flicked to Conti like a man marking a threat.
Rafael didn't hesitate. He excused himself from his companions and crossed the room with the slow confidence of someone who had never been told no.
"Elena," he said, his voice low, warm. "It's been too long."
She swallowed. "Rafael."
Adrian's arm slid fully around her waist now, his hand settling at her hip like a claim. "Conti," he said, his tone colder than the champagne in the crystal flutes. "I didn't realize you'd been invited."
Rafael's smile didn't reach his eyes. "You know how it is, D'Angelo. People like us… doors open."
"I suppose rats can slip through cracks too," Adrian replied.
The tension between them was palpable, the kind that made people nearby pretend not to watch.
Rafael ignored the insult, his gaze back on Elena. "You look… different. Not the girl I remember."
"She's not the girl you remember," Adrian said before she could answer. "She's mine now."
The word hit Elena harder than she expected. Mine. She wanted to hate the way it made her heart stutter.
Rafael's smile was slow, deliberate. "We'll see."
Adrian moved before she even realized — a half-step forward, his presence suddenly towering, his voice low enough for only the three of them to hear. "You're standing too close to my fiancée. I'd advise you to take a step back before I make you regret it."
For a moment, Rafael didn't move. His gaze held Adrian's, a silent, dangerous challenge. Then he smiled again, stepping back with a mock bow toward Elena.
"Enjoy the party," he murmured, before melting into the crowd.
Elena let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "That was—"
"Not over," Adrian cut in. His eyes followed Rafael until the man was completely gone from sight. Then his attention snapped back to her. "What exactly is your history with him?"
She bristled. "That's none of your—"
"It's entirely my business," he said sharply, steering her toward the corner of the room, away from curious ears. "He looked at you like he already knows how you taste."
Heat flooded her cheeks. "Maybe he does."
Adrian's jaw clenched, and for a heartbeat, she thought he might actually lose that iron control he carried like armor. He stepped in close enough that her back brushed the wall.
"I don't care what happened before," he said, voice low and lethal. "But from this moment on, he doesn't touch you. He doesn't speak to you. He doesn't even look at you."
She wanted to push him away. She wanted to tell him he had no right. But his nearness was a gravity she couldn't break free from.
"Why?" she asked softly, almost taunting. "Because I'm leverage? Or because you're afraid of losing something you don't even want?"
His eyes burned into hers. "Careful, Elena. I'm not in the habit of explaining myself."
"Then don't." She tilted her chin up, defiant. "Just admit you hate the idea of me wanting someone else."
For a moment, neither of them moved. The string quartet played on, the crowd murmured, but the only thing she could hear was the thunder of her own heartbeat.
Adrian's gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before snapping back to her eyes. "You're mine, Elena. Whether you want to be or not."
Before she could answer, the sound of raised voices at the far end of the ballroom broke through the tension. Two men in dark suits were arguing near the service doors, one of them clearly part of Adrian's security detail. She caught the words shipment and Conti again, and Adrian's attention immediately shifted.
"Stay here," he ordered.
But she was already following as he moved toward the commotion.
---
They didn't make it far before Rafael appeared again, this time with a champagne flute in one hand and a look that was far too smug.
"I hear congratulations are in order," he said, his tone dripping with false warmth. "Though I have to wonder, Elena… are you marrying him because you want to, or because you have to?"
Adrian's hand was on her arm before she could answer, pulling her gently but firmly behind him. "Walk away, Conti."
Rafael's smirk widened. "One day, D'Angelo, you won't be able to keep her behind you."
"That day isn't today," Adrian said flatly.
The air between them was razor-thin. Elena's pulse hammered in her throat, but the thing that unsettled her most wasn't Rafael's audacity — it was the way Adrian's protectiveness made something deep inside her ache.
Rafael finally stepped back, but his parting glance at Elena was a promise.
And she realized, with a sinking feeling, that her life had just become the prize in a war neither man planned to lose.