Lila Hart's nerves frayed the moment she stepped into the glittering gala.
The chandeliers blazed above, casting golden light over a sea of polished power and false smiles. Every whisper, every glance, seemed to slice across her skin.
Alexander Knight's arm was a steel band around her waist. His grip was both a claim and a warning, his hand resting possessively low on her hip. The black gown he'd chosen for her clung to every curve, its plunging neckline leaving her feeling half-naked under his gaze—and under the scrutiny of everyone else.
She wasn't his date. She was his possession.
His "fiancée."
By contract, not choice.
The same contract that had chained her to him ever since that night two years ago—when she'd dragged him from a burning car in the rain and thought she was saving a life, not surrendering her own.
"Stay close," Alexander murmured. His lips brushed her ear, voice low and velvety, filled with quiet dominance. The scent of him—sandalwood and control—wrapped around her like a noose.
She stiffened. Her heart pounded.
She wanted to scream, to shove him away, to tell every single person in this room that she wasn't his. But the thought of her family stopped her. Her father's debts. Her sister's medical bills. All hanging in the balance of Alexander's twisted obsession.
And after last night—after the punishment he'd given her for Ethan's interference—she knew better than to test him again.
The gala pulsed with wealth and power. Politicians, billionaires, and socialites floated through the ballroom in a haze of perfume and champagne.
Lila felt their eyes—curious, judgmental, cruel.
Whispers followed her.
The waitress.
The secretary.
Knight's newest toy.
She straightened her back, refusing to cower. But inside, her stomach churned.
A man approached, his smile practiced and smooth. "Miss Hart, isn't it?" His voice was polite, confident. "James Langley. Langley Enterprises."
He extended his hand, his green eyes glinting with interest. "I knew your father—a brilliant man. Shame about his company." His gaze lingered on her just a moment too long. "Would you care for a dance?"
Lila blinked.
A dance.
Something simple. Normal. A sliver of freedom.
Before she could speak, Alexander's fingers tightened on her waist, sharp enough to bruise.
"She's taken," he said coldly, his tone lethal, eyes locked on the man.
James raised a brow, not intimidated. "Then let the lady decide," he said smoothly, his hand still extended.
Lila's pulse raced.
She looked at James—his kind eyes, his easy confidence—and felt a flicker of rebellion. Maybe just one dance. One breath away from Alexander's control.
But before she could answer, Alexander moved.
He spun her toward him so fast she gasped, his hand catching her jaw, forcing her gaze up to his.
And then—his mouth crashed onto hers.
The kiss was fierce, unrelenting—fire and possession, burning away thought and air alike. His tongue claimed her, deep and dominating, as he pressed her against a marble pillar in full view of the glittering crowd.
Gasps rippled through the room.
But Alexander didn't care.
His kiss wasn't for her. It was for them—the onlookers. A brand, a declaration. A warning.
Lila's hands fisted in his jacket, torn between shoving him away and melting into the fire. Her body betrayed her. Her nipples tightened against the thin silk of her gown. A soft, desperate sound escaped her lips before she could swallow it.
His thigh pressed between hers, the contact sending a shock of unwanted heat through her.
He broke the kiss only to hover close, his breath hot, his voice low and rough. "You're mine," he growled, loud enough for every whispering mouth to hear.
Lila froze. Her cheeks burned with humiliation.
Around them, the murmurs grew louder—envy, scandal, disbelief. James stood a few feet away, his jaw tight, his polite charm gone.
"Message received, Knight," he said finally, voice clipped, eyes dark with something that wasn't fear—but pity.
He turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
Alexander's hand slid down her back, slow and possessive, as if reminding her of his claim. He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear.
"From now on," he whispered, each word deliberate, "everyone will know you belong to me."
Lila's throat tightened.
Her heart hammered so hard it hurt. The humiliation, the anger, the twisted spark of heat he always managed to ignite—it all crashed inside her.
And then—movement.
From across the ballroom, through the shimmer of crystal and candlelight, a familiar figure stood watching.
Ethan Caldwell.
His jaw clenched, his fists tight at his sides. His eyes burned—not with pity this time, but fury.
Lila's breath caught.
Alexander's arm was still around her, his grip unyielding, but her gaze locked on Ethan's.
He was coming for her.
She could see it in his eyes.
The only question was—how much would it cost them both when he did?