I shoved through the heavy glass doors. My breath came hard and fast, the pounding in my ears drowning out everything else. The garden stretched below the balcony, but I didn’t see it. My vision blurred, focused only on the humiliation burning under my skin.
Damian. On his knee. With her. I gripped the iron railing, my nails biting into the cold metal.Five years of my life wasted. Five years of believing we were building a future, of giving him everything—my heart, my body, my innocence—only for him to toss me aside like I was nothing. I hated him. God, I hated him. I hated the way he still controlled me, the way I cared despite everything. And deep down, I hated myself for staying. My shoulders shook. “Do you always leave when the party gets interesting?” I spun around, startled. It was him—the man from earlier. The one I’d bumped into, the one I’d danced with. He leaned against the doorframe, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his dark suit. His mask was gone now, revealing sharp, chiseled features and a faint scar along his jaw. His dark hair had a slight wave to it, effortlessly styled, and his piercing blue eyes glinted under the faint light of the balcony. He looked older. Late 30s, maybe 40s. A man who had lived, who carried his age like a weapon. There was something timeless about him, something commanding. He didn’t belong here any more than I did—but he owned the space, standing there like he had all the time in the world. “What do you want?” I snapped, the words coming out harsher than I intended. My face was still burning, my humiliation raw, and the last thing I needed was him witnessing it. He tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “To see if you’re okay.” “I’m fine,” I said sharply, turning my back on him. “Right,” he said, his tone making it clear he didn’t believe me. “Because storming out in the middle of a proposal screams ‘fine.’” I whipped back around, my anger flaring. “You don’t know anything about me.” “No,” he admitted, his voice calm, almost lazy. “But I know the look of someone running away.” “Don’t psychoanalyze me,” I snapped, my voice rising. “I wasn’t trying to.” He shrugged, taking a step closer. “Just stating a fact.” He was too calm, too unshaken, and it only made my anger burn hotter. “Well, maybe you should mind your own business.” “Maybe.” His smirk grew, infuriatingly relaxed. “But you’re not making it easy.” He turned as if to leave, his indifference cutting deeper than it should have. My chest tightened, and before I could stop myself, the word slipped out. “Wait.” He stopped, glancing over his shoulder. “Why did you follow me?” I asked, my voice quieter now, unsure. He turned fully, his sharp gaze locking on mine. “Because I wanted to.” Something about the simplicity of his answer made me falter. He wasn’t trying to charm me. He wasn’t mocking me. It was just the truth, raw and unfiltered. “Well, you shouldn’t have,” I said, crossing my arms. “Maybe.” He stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “But here I am.” I didn’t know if I wanted to scream at him or run—or pull him closer just to see if he’d break that maddening calm. “You don’t even know me,” I whispered, more to myself than to him. “I know enough.” That calm confidence pushed me over the edge. Before I could think, before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed the front of his suit, yanked him down, and kissed him. He didn’t hesitate. His hands gripped my waist as he pulled me closer. His control cracked just enough to match the urgency in my kiss, his mouth warm and demanding. I didn’t care that this was reckless. I didn’t care that I didn’t know his name or that there had to be at least a fifteen-year gap between us. All I cared about was the way his hands felt on my skin, the way his lips erased the sting of Damian’s betrayal. The kiss deepened, growing harder, more desperate. I pressed closer, needing to drown in him, to forget everything else. When we finally broke apart, gasping for air, his gaze was darker now, his smirk replaced by something more intense. “You’re full of surprises,” he said, his voice rough. I swallowed hard, my pulse racing. “You shouldn’t have followed me,” I said again, but the words lacked conviction. “Too late for that now.” He held out his hand, and before I could think, I took it. He led me through a side door, away from the chaos of the gala. We moved through quiet, dimly lit hallways until he pushed open another door. A library. The room was warm and quiet, the faint crackle of a fire filling the air. Books lined the walls, towering over the plush leather furniture scattered throughout the space. “Do you bring all your disasters here?” I asked, my voice shaky, still caught between adrenaline and the lingering heat of the kiss. “Only the interesting ones,” he said, his gaze lingering on me. I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. I should have stopped this. I should have walked away. Instead, I crossed the room, drawn to him like a flame. When his lips met mine again, there was no hesitation. The kiss was explosive. Heat flared from where his lips met mine, spreading outward like wildfire, engulfing me. I cased his neck with my hands, pretending to steady him when I was really stabilizing myself. Everything went weak inside me. My bones turned to jelly. I was cold when he peeled the gown and dropped it to the floor, but then his hands were on me, his fingertips tracing the lines of my bra. My hands found their home back on his neck, and I could feel his hurried pulse beneath my palms. The thin fabric of my bra was all that stood in his way, but he seemed to enjoy touching me like this. Skirting the edge before diving in. His soft tongue slid into my mouth and caressed, and instinctively, my hand grabbed a fistful of hair at the base of his skull. I wasn’t going to be able to stand much longer if he kept kissing me like that. I pulsed with need. Fingertips worked the clasp of my bra, and it popped loose, sliding down to catch on my elbows. I tossed it aside and reached for the hem of his shirt, but he beat me to it. I wasn’t prepared for how good he looked. He was all hard muscle twisted over his frame, a patch of hair covering his chest and arrowing down to disappear beneath his dress pants. I swallowed hard when he pressed our warm, naked skin together. If it was supposed to be wrong, why the hell did it feel right?
