Delilah hated galas. They were glittering cages---places where the rich paraded their wealth like peacocks and the rest of the world pretended not to notice. But tonight, she had no choice. Her firm was sponsoring a charity auction, and her name was on the banner.
She wore black. Sleek, simple, powerful. No frills. No distractions.
"Delilah Rivera," someone called as she entered the ballroom.
She turned---and froze.
Hunter Bancroft.
In a tuxedo that probably cost more than her monthly rent. His hair slicked back, his smile lazy, his eyes locked on her like she was the only person in the room.
"You clean up well," he said, stepping closer.
"I always do," she replied, voice cool.
He offered his arm. "Dance with me."
She blinked. "Is that a request or a command?"
"A gamble," he said. "Let's see if you're brave enough to take it."
Delilah hesitated. The music was soft, the lights low, and the eyes of half the city's elite were watching. If she danced with him, it would be a headline tomorrow.
But if she didn't?
He'd win anyway.
She took his arm.
The dance floor was warm, crowded, and intimate. Hunter's hand settled on her waist like it belonged there. His other hand held hers, firm but gentle.
"You're not like them," he murmured.
"Who?"
"The women here. They want my name. You want your own."
Delilah looked up at him, surprised. "You noticed?"
"I notice everything about you."
Her heart skipped. Just once. But it was enough.
"You're dangerous," she whispered.
Hunter leaned in, his breath brushing her ear. "Only if you let me be."
The song ended. The crowd applauded. Delilah stepped back, her pulse racing.
She didn't say goodbye.
She didn't need to.
Because the game had officially begun.