The world wouldn't stop watching us.
After the kiss—after the flash of that cursed camera—life became a storm I couldn't control.
By sunrise, our kiss was splashed across every screen, dissected by every mouth. "The King heir caught tangled with the Rossi princess." "Forbidden passion ignites between rival dynasties." Headlines branded us traitors and star-crossed lovers in the same breath.
Investors called me a liability. My father called me worse.
And yet all I could think of was the taste of her lips, the tremble of her breath, the way she hadn't pulled away.
That kiss haunted me. It wasn't just scandal. It was truth.
But truth was dangerous.
Two days later, the city's most prestigious charity gala unfolded at the Belmont Hotel—a gilded event where the powerful flaunted their generosity like trophies. Attendance was mandatory. The guest list read like a battlefield, and of course, the Rossis were there.
Which meant she was there.
I spotted her the moment I entered the marble hall, though I'd told myself I wouldn't look. She wore midnight blue this time, the silk draped like it was woven for her alone. A diamond pendant rested against her collarbone, and the sight of it—the sight of her—knocked the air from my lungs.
But she wasn't looking at me. She was on her father's arm, smile perfected, mask flawless.
She looked untouchable.
And yet I knew the truth. I'd tasted it.
The room buzzed with whispers. Every step I took, I felt eyes slicing into me, waiting for the next spark to ignite.
"Adrian." My father's voice was tight beside me. "Control yourself tonight. No stunts. No glances. Nothing."
I didn't respond. Because my eyes had already betrayed me.
And hers—hers found mine across the ballroom. Just for a second. Just long enough.
We were forced together sooner than either of us wanted. The organizers, oblivious or perhaps cruel, had arranged for the King and Rossi heirs to share the stage for the evening's main announcement.
"Public unity," the host beamed. "What better symbol of peace than Adrian King and Isabella Rossi, standing side by side for charity?"
The irony nearly choked me.
She stepped up first, poised, graceful, her perfume drifting like sin itself. When I joined her, the crowd erupted in flashes and murmurs. Cameras adored us—two enemies, standing together, the picture of civility.
But beneath the lights, it wasn't civility. It was torture.
Her hand brushed the edge of the podium, so close to mine that my skin burned. Every inhale brought her scent deeper. Every whisper from the crowd dared us to betray ourselves.
I leaned closer, voice low enough only she could hear. "Enjoying yourself?"
Her lips barely curved, but her eyes… her eyes were fire. "Do you always flirt with your enemies in front of an audience?"
"Only the dangerous ones," I murmured.
Her chest rose, her mask never breaking, but I saw it—the crack in her composure, the way her fingers tightened against the wood.
The speech passed in a blur. Applause thundered, cameras blinded. To the world, we were united. To me, she was poison I couldn't stop drinking.
And then it happened.
Backstage.
We slipped behind the velvet curtain, the noise of the ballroom fading. She exhaled sharply, finally breaking the mask, and I turned—too close, always too close.
Her eyes flashed. "You're playing with fire."
"Maybe I like fire."
Her breath caught. The silence between us was electric, unbearable.
I stepped closer. She didn't move back.
"You should hate me," I whispered.
Her gaze flicked to my lips. "I do."
And yet she didn't step away. Neither did I.
The space between us shrank, our hearts colliding before our lips could. For one reckless second, I was ready to damn us both, to taste her again no matter the cost.
But then—
"Isabella!" A voice cut through the shadows. A Rossi cousin, searching.
She jerked back, eyes wide, mask snapping into place.
"Go," she hissed.
But as she turned away, disaster struck. The paparazzi had found the service door behind the curtain. Dozens of flashes exploded like gunfire.
"Over here! King and Rossi! Together again!"
She froze, blinded. Panic rose in her eyes.
I didn't think. I grabbed her arm, pulling her with me, cutting through the chaos. We burst into the cold night air, the swarm chasing us, shouting questions like knives.
"Adrian! Isabella! Is it love?"
"Are the families merging through marriage?"
"Is this revenge or romance?"
Her heels skidded on the pavement. I shoved open the back door of my car, dragging her inside. Cameras hammered against the windows, fists pounding the glass.
The driver pulled away fast, leaving the madness behind.
Inside, silence. Only our ragged breathing filled the dark.
She sat beside me, chest heaving, eyes wide with fury and something more dangerous—desire.
"You shouldn't have done that," she whispered.
"I wasn't about to watch them tear you apart," I shot back.
Her voice trembled, though not with fear. "Every time you save me, Adrian… it costs me everything."
I turned, the city lights flashing across her face. "Then let's make it cost them too."
The car roared down the streets, and between us, the silence burned hotter than any flame.