5 Back In His Arms

Sarah****

The party hummed around me, a symphony of clinking glasses and murmured conversations. The terrace had offered a brief reprieve, but as I re-entered the ballroom, the weight of the evening returned. Thomas was somewhere nearby, speaking to his father’s business associates, and I had excused myself for air, needing a moment to steady my thoughts.

I smoothed the silk of my midnight-blue gown and adjusted my posture, slipping effortlessly back into the role I’d been playing for years—the perfect girlfriend, poised and unshakable.

Then I saw him.

Max.

I froze. The air seemed to shift, the sounds of the party fading into a distant hum as my eyes locked onto him.

It wasn’t just his appearance—though, God, he looked breathtakingly different. The man standing in the doorway wasn’t the Max I had left behind. This man owned the room with a confidence that sent a shiver down my spine. His tuxedo fit him like it was crafted from the fabric of power itself, and his dark eyes—those same eyes that once held tenderness for me—were sharper, colder, and yet still magnetic.

He turned, his gaze sweeping over the crowd until it found mine. The intensity of his stare rooted me in place. A slow, deliberate smirk curved his lips, and I felt my heart slam against my ribs.

I wanted to run. Or maybe I wanted to stay. I couldn’t tell the difference.

“Good evening,” Max said smoothly as he approached, the crowd parting for him like he was royalty.

“Max,” I whispered, unable to hide the tremor in my voice.

“Still know my name, I see,” he said, his voice low, a tease beneath the formality. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten me entirely.”

Before I could respond, he extended his hand. “Care to dance, Sara?”

I hesitated, glancing around. Thomas was across the room, too far to intervene. The curious eyes of the crowd burned into me.

“Max, I don’t think—”

“Come on,” he interrupted, his tone soft but commanding. “One dance. For old times’ sake.”

Against my better judgment, I placed my hand in his. His fingers curled around mine, firm and warm, sending a jolt of electricity through me.

He led me onto the dance floor, and the music seemed to shift, slowing to something sensual, almost intimate. His hand slid to my waist, pulling me closer than was appropriate, and I found myself pressed against him, our bodies moving in sync.

The heat between us was instant, undeniable. My breath caught as he guided me through the steps, his touch steady but deliberate, a reminder of just how well he knew me.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I said, my voice low, the words catching in my throat.

“Why not?” he asked, his tone maddeningly casual. “Don’t I belong in your world now?” He stepped closer, his presence overpowering, making my words caught in my throat.

"I am no longer the poor struggling player you once knew," he whispered, his eyes burning with intensity. "I have risen above that world, and now I am here for you. A billionaire who can give you everything you desire."

“I don't need your money or your gifts,” I replied, my voice firm. “You can’t just waltz back into my life like this.”

"Why, because you're afraid of what I have become?" he challenged, a hint of hurt in his eyes. "I may have changed, but my feelings for you haven't." I felt torn between the past and the present, unsure of how to respond to his unexpected declaration. "You are mine, and I will fight for you," he declared, his voice filled with determination.

"You don't have to fight for me," I whispered, feeling a mix of emotions. "I am with Sam now."

His grip on my waist tightened slightly, his lips curling into a smirk. “Then why are you here in arms?”

I couldn’t look away from him. His gaze was too intense, his presence too overwhelming. Every step of the dance felt like a battle—a push and pull of emotions I had tried to bury.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, my voice softer now, almost pleading.

His hand slid up my back, his touch sending a shiver through me. He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear as he whispered, “Because you still feel it. Don’t you?”

My body betrayed me, leaning into him for a fraction of a second before I forced myself to pull back. But the look in his eyes told me he had noticed.

“Let me go, Max,” I said, my voice trembling.

“Not until you admit it,” he said, his gaze dropping to my lips for the briefest moment. “Admit that this—we—aren’t over.”

Before I could answer, a firm hand gripped my arm, pulling me away from Max.

“Everything all right here?” Sam’s voice was cool, but I could hear the edge in it.

I turned to find him standing there, his expression composed but his jaw tight. He pulled me to his side, his hand possessive on my waist.

“Perfectly fine,” Max said smoothly, his expression unreadable now. “Sara and I were just reminiscing.”

“Is that what you call it?” Sam asked, his tone sharp.

Max’s smirk returned, a challenge flickering in his eyes. “Relax, Samuel. I was just asking Sara for a dance. You don’t mind, do you?”

“I do, actually,” Sam said, his grip on me tightening. “Sara is with me now. And I’d appreciate it if you respected that.”

The tension between them crackled, thick and suffocating. I felt like a rope being tugged in a game of war.

“Of course,” Max said, taking a step back. His gaze lingered on me for a moment, softer now but no less intense. “But for how long?” he said with a smirk. I could sense the underlying threat in his words, and a chill ran down my spine.

"Wait…," I interjected, my voice shaky. "What do you mean by that?" Max's smirk widened, his eyes glinting with mischief. "You will know soon enough," he replied cryptically before turning and walking away, leaving me with a sense of unease that lingered long after he was gone.

Sam turned to me, his eyes searching mine. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, but the truth was, I wasn’t. Not even close.

Max was back, and he wasn’t just a ghost from my past. He still had the ability to unravel me, and I wasn’t sure if I could withstand him.