Bound to the Devil

The flashbulbs exploded like gunfire.

Rowan Vale's fingers tightened around his press pass as security guards shoved him backward. "No unauthorized personnel beyond this point," one barked, but Rowan had already slipped past the velvet rope, heart hammering against his ribs like it wanted to escape.

This is it. Elena Voss is here. One photo, one quote, and I can finally prove—

"Well, well. The disgraced journalist returns."

The voice cut through the crowd like a blade. Rowan turned slowly, already knowing who he'd find. Kael Draven stood at the top of the marble staircase, black tuxedo molded to his frame like a second skin, steel-gray eyes fixed on Rowan with predatory focus.

Fuck. Of course he'd be here.

"Mr. Draven," Rowan said, lifting his camera. "Care to comment on your father's mysterious disappearance?"

Kael descended the stairs with deliberate grace, each step echoing through the suddenly quiet ballroom. The crowd parted around him like water around stone. When he reached Rowan, he was close enough that Rowan could smell his cologne—sandalwood and gunpowder.

"My father's business is his own," Kael said, voice low and dangerous. "Though I find it fascinating that a journalist who can't keep his job has such keen interest in my family."

Rowan's jaw clenched. "I was blacklisted for exposing corruption. That doesn't make me wrong."

"No," Kael agreed, leaning closer. "It makes you desperate."

The word hit like a slap. Rowan felt heat crawl up his neck, but he refused to back down. "Desperate enough to ask why Elena Voss transferred three million dollars to your father's offshore account two days before he vanished?"

Kael's expression didn't change, but something shifted in his eyes—calculation, maybe respect. "You have proof of this?"

"I have sources."

"Sources," Kael repeated, the word dripping with disdain. "How very journalistic of you."

Before Rowan could respond, a commotion erupted near the entrance. Elena Voss swept into the ballroom in a crimson gown that screamed money and menace, her security detail clearing a path through the crowd. Her eyes found Rowan immediately, and her painted lips curved into a smile that promised pain.

Shit. She knows I'm here.

Kael followed his gaze, and Rowan felt the moment the other man made a decision. Kael's hand shot out, gripping Rowan's wrist with bruising force.

"What are you—"

"Trust me," Kael hissed, pulling Rowan against his chest. "Or die here."

Then Kael kissed him.

It wasn't gentle. It was possession, punishment, a claim staked in front of every camera in the room. Kael's mouth was hot and demanding, his free hand fisting in Rowan's hair to hold him still. Rowan made a sound—protest, surprise, something else entirely—and Kael swallowed it greedily.

The flashbulbs went wild.

When Kael finally pulled back, his lips were swollen and his eyes were dark with something Rowan couldn't name. "Smile for the cameras, darling," he murmured. "We're engaged now."

Rowan's world tilted. "What the fuck—"

"Elena won't touch you if she thinks you're mine," Kael said, voice barely audible over the chaos. "And I need a distraction from my father's... situation. You need protection. It's perfect."

"It's insane."

"It's survival." Kael's thumb brushed over Rowan's bottom lip, wiping away evidence of their kiss. "Unless you'd rather face Elena alone?"

Rowan glanced over Kael's shoulder. Elena was watching them with cold calculation, her security team already moving in their direction. Fuck.

"Fine," Rowan said through gritted teeth. "But this is fake. And temporary."

Kael's smile was sharp as broken glass. "Of course."

They turned to face the approaching storm together, Kael's arm around Rowan's waist like a brand. The crowd was already whispering, phones raised to capture every moment. Rowan's career was in ruins, his reputation destroyed, and now he was fake-engaged to the most dangerous man in the city.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?