đ Bound by Fate, Tied by Love
đč Chapter 7: Whispers in the Ballroom
The chandeliers glittered above them, their crystal arms scattering golden light across polished marble floors. The ballroom pulsed with music and chatter, the perfect stage for elegance, lies, and carefully crafted smiles.
Isabella clutched her glass of champagne, wishing the bubbles in it were strong enough to drown her anxiety. She stood at Adrian's side, his hand warm at her waist, guiding her from one circle of elites to another. Every introduction came with polite laughter, sly glances, and whispers she couldn't quite catch.
She was drowning in it allâtoo much silk, too much perfume, too many sharp eyes peeling back the layers of her borrowed confidence.
Adrian leaned closer, his lips brushing against the curve of her ear as he spoke. "You're doing better than I expected."
She stiffened. "Better? I feel like I'm about to faint."
"Don't," he said firmly, his voice a low command that somehow steadied her instead of breaking her. "Not here. Not with them watching."
Before she could respond, a soft laugh floated through the crowd. Chloe, radiant in her crimson dress, glided past a cluster of men and locked her eyes on Adrian once again.
"Still pretending, darling?" she said sweetly, her tone just loud enough for Isabella to hear. "You've always hated games."
Isabella's heart lurched, but Adrian's grip only tightened. His smile, sharp as glass, didn't falter. "Some games are worth playing."
Chloe tilted her head, eyes narrowing on Isabella like she was prey. "We'll see how long she lasts."
The words stung, but Isabella refused to let her triumph. Lifting her chin, she slipped her arm more firmly around Adrian's. "I'll last as long as I need to," she said softly, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest.
For the briefest second, Adrian's gaze flicked toward her. Approval? Amusement? She couldn't tell, but the ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips.
"Adrian," another voice calledâa heavyset man with a cigar in hand. "A word, if you don't mind."
Adrian hesitated, his eyes scanning Isabella's face. For a moment, she thought he might refuse. But then he said, "Stay here. Don't move."
And just like that, he was goneâswallowed by a circle of men in dark suits.
Isabella's fingers clenched around her glass. Alone. Again.
She tried to breathe, tried to ignore the weight of curious stares. That was when the whispers reached her.
"Did you hear? He hasn't been seen with anyone since Chloe."
"Strange, isn't it? Out of nowhere, a fiancée."
"Some say she's nothing more than a coverâŠa deal."
Her skin prickled. She wanted to turn, to demand answers, but she forced herself to stand still. Smile. Don't move.
And thenâ
"Careful, Miss Reed."
The voice was deep, low, and far too close.
She turned, her breath catching. A man stood only a few steps away, half-hidden in the shadows near a pillar. Dark hair. Sharp jawline. Eyes that seemed to glimmer with secrets. He held no drink, spoke to no one, simply watched.
The same man she had seen at the entrance.
"Youâ" she began, her voice barely above a whisper.
But just then, Adrian reappeared at her side, his presence like a storm cutting through the haze. His arm slid possessively around her waist, his gaze cutting sharply to the stranger.
"Problem?" Adrian asked, his tone deceptively polite but edged with steel.
The man only smiled faintly, gave Isabella one last lingering look, and melted back into the crowd without a word.
Isabella's heart thundered. "AdrianâŠwho was that?"
His jaw tightened. "No one you need to worry about."
Her eyes narrowed. "No one? He was staring at me."
Adrian leaned in, his breath hot against her ear, his words for her alone. "Then maybe he knows better than to keep trying."
It should have comforted her. Instead, a chill ran down her spine.
Before she could press further, a waiter approached with another tray of champagne. Adrian plucked two glasses, handed one to Isabella, and raised his own.
"To appearances," he said with a sardonic smile.
She swallowed hard, clinking her glass against his. "And to secrets," she muttered under her breath.
He glanced at her, sharp and curious, as though he hadn't expected her to answer that way.
But before he could reply, the music shifted. A waltz began, and couples started gliding toward the center of the ballroom.
Adrian set his glass aside and turned to her, extending a hand. His expression was unreadable, but his tone left no room for refusal.
"Dance with me."
Her pulse jumped. Every instinct screamed to refuse, to tell him she couldn't, that she didn't belong here. But under the heavy weight of a hundred watching eyes, she placed her trembling hand in his.
His grip was steady, pulling her into the rhythm of the dance floor. And as the music swelled, Isabella realized two things:
OneâAdrian Cole didn't dance like a man who played at appearances. He danced like someone who controlled every beat.
And twoâthis was only the beginning.