The Enemy I Can’t Stop Craving

Chapter 2

(Xander's POV)

The Grand Ballroom pulses with life; the constant low hum of conversations, the sharp crystalline clink of champagne flutes, the heavy blend of expensive perfumes, cigar smoke, and polished oak from the open bar. Golden light from the massive chandeliers spills across the marble floors, casting shifting shadows that dance with every movement. But the moment Sophia Laurent steps through the tall arched doorway, the entire world narrows to her alone.

The emerald silk gown clings to her like liquid temptation, shimmering under the lights with every step. It molds perfectly to the full swell of her breasts, clinches tight at her narrow waist, and flares over the lush curve of her hips. The back plunges dangerously low, revealing the elegant line of her spine and the smooth, warm expanse of skin I suddenly ache to trace with my fingers. Her dark hair cascades in thick, glossy waves down her back, catching glints of gold light. And her scent, sharp jasmine laced with warm vanilla and something darker, almost smoky, cuts through the crowded air like a blade, wrapping around me, pulling me in.

Our eyes lock across the room. She still looks at me like she wants to kill me.

And that single look sends a raw, electric jolt straight through my veins, hotter than the aged whiskey still burning on my tongue.

Fifteen years of poison and unresolved war ignite between us in one searing second. Her hazel eyes burn with pure, unfiltered hatred, her full red lips pressed into a thin, furious line. My pulse thunders in my ears. My cock twitches hard against the confines of my tuxedo pants, already half-hard from nothing more than her glare.

I set my whiskey glass down on the bar with a sharp clink, the cool glass lingering on my fingertips as I push through the crowd. Bodies brush against me, but I barely register them. The scent of her perfume grows stronger with every step, intoxicating, defiant, dangerous. When I finally stop barely a foot away, the heat radiating from her skin brushes my chest like a live wire.

“Sophia Laurent,” I murmur, my voice low and rough, tasting the bitterness of old lies on my tongue. “Still pretending you belong in rooms like this?”

Her nostrils flare delicately. The faint, sweet-tart scent of champagne on her breath mingles with her perfume as she leans in, voice dripping venom. “Still pretending your empire isn’t built on stolen blood and lies?” she replies, voice ice-cold. “How does it feel knowing every floor of Voss Tower sits on my father’s grave?”

The words slice deep, cold as the rain I remember from that courthouse day. For a split second, I smell wet marble and the metallic tang of blood, hear the distant wail of sirens. Guilt tries to claw its way up my throat, but I crush it down, letting cold arrogance flood in instead.

Instead, I let my gaze drag slowly, deliberately down her body. The silk shifts and whispers against her skin with every shallow breath she takes. “That dress looks expensive. Almost as expensive as the company you’re about to lose. Though I’d prefer it pooled at my feet while you’re on your knees.”

A deep flush blooms across her cheeks and travels down her neck, warm and visible even in the golden light. Her breath quickens, warm puffs brushing my jaw. “Keep dreaming, you arrogant bastard.”

“Oh, I do,” I reply, stepping even closer until our bodies nearly touch. The heat of her skin seeps through the thin fabric of my shirt, burning me. “Every damn night. And in those dreams, you’re not fighting me. You’re underneath me, legs wrapped around my waist, moaning my name while I fuck every last drop of that hatred out of you.”

Her breath stutters, a soft, involuntary hitch that goes straight to my cock. I catch the rapid flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat, the way her fingers tighten around the delicate stem of her champagne flute until her knuckles turn white. The faint tremble in her body vibrates against my chest.

Her assistant Lila appears suddenly, face pale and whispers frantically to Sophia. 

Sophia’s champagne glass slips from her fingers.

It shatters on the marble floor with a sharp, explosive crash, tiny shards glittering like diamonds under the chandelier light. The sound echoes in my chest like a starting gun.

I don’t flinch. I already knew. My lawyers prepared the contract this morning. But watching the color drain from her beautiful face, watching her perfect control shatter right in front of me, sends a dark, possessive thrill racing through every nerve in my body.

Marriage.

One year.

Sophia Laurent in my penthouse. Sleeping in my bed. Wearing my ring while she fights me with every breath she takes.

The thought makes my cock throb painfully against my zipper.

She lifts her eyes to mine. They blaze with pure, murderous fury and dawning horror, her pupils dilated in the golden light.

“You knew,” she whispers, her voice raw and trembling.

I lean in until my mouth hovers beside her ear, my breath warm against her flushed skin. “Well, darling… looks like you’re about to become Mrs. Alexander Voss.”

Her body goes rigid against mine, every muscle tense, her heart hammering so hard I can feel it against my chest.

I pull back just enough to lock eyes with her again, letting my lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile. My fingers press deeper into the warm, silky skin of her lower back, feeling her involuntary shiver.