The Red Silk Ambush

I stepped out of the car and onto the red carpet outside the Grand Hyatt with my chin high.

Tonight, I hadn’t dressed to be the modest bride-to-be. I had dressed for a mistake.

My gown was liquid crimson silk, clinging to every single curve of my hips and waist like water. The neckline dipped low, showing the swell of my chest, while the back plunged all the way to the base of my spine. A high slit ran up my left thigh, exposing bare skin with every step I took on my black heels. My dark hair fell over one bare shoulder in glossy waves, and my lips were painted a deep, bold red.

When Ethan met me near the ballroom entrance, his eyes widened. A flash of crude hunger crossed his face, quickly replaced by his usual frown.

"You look... bold, Robin," he muttered, kissing my cheek with breath that reeked of scotch. "A bit bold for a corporate gala, don’t you think? My mother prefers modest colors."

"Your mother isn’t wearing the dress, Ethan," I said, offering him a sweet, venomous smile. "I am."

Ethan blinked, thrown by the icy sharpness in my voice, but quickly recovered. Tonight was about his family’s prestige, his father’s legacy, and his own rising career. He slipped his hand around my waist, playing the proud, handsome fiancé for the dozens of photographers and corporate board members mingling under the massive crystal chandeliers.

The ballroom was filled with laughter, clinking champagne glasses, and low jazz. I smiled on cue, shook hands with senior executives, and nodded politely at Ethan’s mother’s passive-aggressive compliments about her dress.

Every second felt like chewing on glass.

Then, I saw her.

Standing near the bar across the room was Victoria. My cousin wore a soft baby-pink dress, looking every bit the sweet, innocent girl she pretended to be. When Ethan excused himself to grab fresh drinks for Robin and his parents, I kept my eyes locked on him.

I watched as Ethan approach the bar. I watched the casual way he brushed his shoulder against Victoria's. As the bartender poured the drinks, Ethan leaned down, murmuring something close to Victoria’s ear. Victoria’s face flushed pink, her lips curving into a smug, knowing smirk. Right before Ethan took the champagne flutes, Victoria’s small fingers lightly trailed down the sleeve of Ethan's tuxedo jacket, grazing the inside of his wrist.

A secret touch. A brazen, filthy promise hidden in plain sight.

I felt the last drop of hesitation evaporate from my veins. Any lingering trace of doubt, any thought of giving Ethan a second chance, died right there on the parquet floor.

I turned my gaze away from the bar and scanned the crowded room.

I found him instantly.

Damon stood near the arched terrace doors, apart from the buzzing crowd. He wore a custom black tuxedo that fit his broad shoulders and narrow waist like armor. Unlike Ethan, who was smiling and desperate to impress everyone, Damon looked utterly bored. He held a glass of dark amber liquor in one hand, radiating a quiet, dangerous authority that kept casual chatterers at a respectful distance.

My heart gave a heavy, deliberate thud against my ribs.

Under the dim chandelier light, Damon’s sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and dark, brooding eyes pulled at her like a magnet. I remember the pool. I remember the water streaming down that carved torso, those hard abs I had secretly craved to touch.

Damon checked the platinum watch on his wrist, glanced at the noisy crowd with clear irritation, and slipped his empty glass onto a passing waiter’s tray. Without saying goodbye to anyone, he turned and stepped through a discreet side doorway leading away from the ballroom.

I didn't wait.

I handed the untouched champagne to an empty table and followed him.

The door clicked shut behind me, cutting off the loud jazz and chatter. The hallway was a quiet service corridor, lined with soft gray carpet and dim, warm sconces along the walls. It was deserted.

Damon was ten paces ahead of her. He had already pulled a sleek black phone from the inside pocket of his tuxedo, his thumb scrolling through messages. His broad back was turned to her, the fabric of his jacket straining slightly over his wide shoulders.

I walked silently on the carpet, the slit in my red dress whispering against my leg. my heart was hammering against the ribs, but my mind was crystal clear.

Five steps.

Three steps.

Damon’s head tilted down slightly, completely focused on the screen in his hand, unaware that anyone had entered the private corridor behind him.

One step.

I didn't clear my throat. I didn't call his name.

I closed the final distance, stepped right into his personal space, and fisted both of my hands into the satin lapels of his tuxedo jacket.

Damon’s head snapped up, his dark eyes widening in genuine shock for a fraction of a second—

I didn't give him time to speak.

I rose onto her tiptoes, pulled his head down with surprising force, and crashed my red lips straight onto his.