A Kiss Meant to Hurt

Evelyn had never liked red carpet events.

Too many lights. Too many eyes. Too many cameras trying to capture the cracks beneath the glamor.

But tonight, she walked the crimson rug like it belonged to her.

Her body was wrapped in black silk that hugged her curves, her hair twisted into a sleek chignon, and her lips painted a shade that matched the wine in her glass. It looked dark, seductive, and dangerous.

The Kane Foundation Gala was in full swing at the Carrington Hotel, glittering with wealth and whispers. Cameras flashed. Champagne flowed. Journalists buzzed like flies around honey.

But all Evelyn could feel was the weight of Alexander’s hand on her lower back.

“Smile,” he said through gritted teeth, leaning close for the cameras. “You’re doing so well pretending to like me.”

“I could say the same,” she murmured, her eyes locked on a reporter snapping photos.

He chuckled quietly. “But I don’t pretend, Evelyn. If I didn’t like you…” His voice dropped an octave. “You’d know.”

Her spine straightened. “Is that a threat or a promise?” He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Inside the ballroom, Alexander moved through the crowd like a king among pawns, polished, Imposing, controlled. Evelyn let herself drift to the edges of the room, speaking with donors, charming board members, offering carefully curated smiles that made her look like the perfect wife. Until she noticed him watching her.

From across the ballroom, Alexander stood still, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a drink he hadn’t touched. His eyes didn’t leave her. Not when she laughed politely at the senator’s joke, not when she lightly touched the arm of a tech mogul during the conversation, not when the rival CEO’s son, Landon Cross, leaned in too close and whispered something at her ear that made her eyes narrow. And that’s when Alexander moved fast, smooth, and deadly.

She didn’t see him until she felt the grip on her waist. It was firm and possessive. And then his lips were on hers. There was no warning. No soft build-up. It was raw, controlling, and designed to claim. The music didn’t stop, but time did.

Gasps rippled around them. The photographers swarmed like sharks smelling blood in the water. Evelyn stiffened beneath the force of the kiss. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t loving. It was a punishment.

He kissed her like she was his to command. Like every person in that room needed to see who she belonged to.

And worst of all, It worked. Until she shoved him. She did very hard. The kiss broke with a gasp. It came from her, not him. And then she slapped him. The sound echoed like a gunshot through the ballroom.

Silence fell like a rain. Even the orchestra faltered for half a beat.

Evelyn’s breath came fast, her chest heaving. Her fingers tingled from the impact. Alexander stood perfectly still, his cheek red, his expression unreadable.

A dozen cameras clicked. And then, calmly, she stepped closer, close enough for only him to hear.

“You want to prove you own me?” she whispered. “You’re going to have to try harder than a kiss that tastes like control and vodka.”

He stared at her with an unreadable expression. Not angry, not amused, Intrigued.

“You’re playing with fire,” he finally murmured.

“Good,” she said. “Maybe I’ll finally burn you.”

She turned and walked away without a backward glance. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor, each step more confident than the last. The crowd parted. The whispers followed but she didn’t care or stop to address the situation.

And Alexander Kane stood alone, his jaw tight, his hands clenched, and his ego cracked. He had tried to put her back in her place. But all he’d done was show the world and himself was that Evelyn Kane couldn’t be tamed

Outside, as Evelyn slips into the waiting car, a mysterious woman steps out of the shadows and hands an envelope to a reporter. Inside is a photo of Evelyn from five years ago in a hospital gown beside a man who looks just like Alexander. Only it’s not him.

And the caption reads: “The truth about Mrs. Kane.”