Chapter 4 The Stranger’s Touch

The music was deafening, but his voice cut through it like it was meant only for me.

“Running away already?” he asked, and though I hadn’t seen him move, the stranger was suddenly at my side again. His nearness made my pulse stutter, like a bird trapped in a cage beating its wings too fast.

I turned sharply, words catching on my tongue. “I wasn’t running.”

“Yes, you were.” His lips curved into the faintest smile, unreadable and dangerous. “But it’s fine. I’m not chasing.”

I swallowed, glancing toward the exit, but the truth was written across my face. I *had* been running, not just from him but from everythingCharles, the penthouse, the prison of my life. And somehow, this man had seen all of it in a single glance.

I forced my voice steady. “You shouldn’t talk to strangers like this.”

He leaned closer, the heat of his presence both terrifying and magnetic. “And yet, you’re still listening.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them. “Maybe I’m foolish.”

“Or maybe,” he murmured, “you’re desperate to finally be heard.”

The air between us crackled. My fingers tightened around my glass, though I hadn’t touched the drink in minutes. His eyes followed the motion, then flicked back to mine, unflinching.

“Tell me,” he said softly, “does he even notice when you’re gone?”

My chest constricted. “Excuse me?”

“Your husband,” he replied, voice calm, almost too calm. “The man who clipped your wings. Does he notice when you slip into the night? Or is his world too busy to see you vanish?”

My throat went dry. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough,” he said, studying me like I was a puzzle he intended to solve. “Your silence tells me more than words.”

I should have walked away. I should have told him to leave me alone. But instead, I whispered, “You’re wrong.”

“No,” he said. “I’m not.”

The crowd pressed closer, bodies brushing against me as the music surged. I wanted space to breathe, but his presence kept me anchored, pulled in by a gravity I couldn’t fight.

He tilted his head. “Why are you here?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because you’re not dancing. You’re not laughing. You’re standing on the edge of the world, pretending you belong in it.”

My eyes stung, a shameful burn I hadn’t expected. I turned away, but his hand brushed my wristlight, almost hesitant, but enough to still me.

“Don’t,” I breathed, the word breaking on my lips.

“Why not?”

“Because…” My voice faltered. “Because it’s dangerous.”

His smile deepened, but there was no cruelty in it. Only something sharper. “Good. Then we understand each other.”

Halfway through the night, something shifted.

“Do you want to know a secret?” he asked, voice lowering as though it was meant for me alone.

I hesitated, then nodded.

“I saw you the moment you walked in,” he said. “Wrapped in shadows, clutching yourself like you might shatter. Everyone else saw a pretty woman. I saw a storm.”

My breath caught. “Why would you say that?”

“Because storms aren’t meant to be caged,” he said. “They destroy cages.”

The words lodged in me, dangerous and intoxicating. For years I had been told I was fragile, delicate, a jewel to be guarded. No one had ever looked at me and seen something fierce.

I whispered, “And what if the cage destroys the storm first?”

“Then maybe the storm finds someone who isn’t afraid to open the door.”

I shook my head, laughing weakly to hide the ache inside. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re lonely.”

I froze. He had stripped me bare with that single word.

My voice trembled. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes,” he said, leaning in so close his breath warmed my ear. “I do.”

A beat of silence stretched, then I asked, “Who are you?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze swept the room as though calculating who was watching. Then, he met my eyes.

“Someone who knows what it’s like to live with chains.”

I stiffened. The truth in his tone was too sharp to be fabricated.

“You’re lying,” I whispered, though I didn’t believe myself.

“Am I?” His expression darkened. “Or are you afraid that I’m the first person who sees you clearly?”

The words felt like a blade. I wanted to deny it, but my silence betrayed me again.

The song changed, the bass thrumming through the floor. He reached for my hand, not pulling, just offering.

“Dance with me,” he said.

“I don’t dance,” I murmured.

“Then let me remind you how.”

My body betrayed me. Against every instinct, against every voice in my head screaming to run, I placed my hand in his.

The moment our skin touched, a shock surged through me, heat, fear, longing all tangled together.

His hand slid to my waist, steady and unyielding. His mother guided mine to his shoulder.

“Breathe,” he whispered.

And for the first time in years, I did.

Our bodies moved, slow against the furious rhythm, as if the world bent to our pace. I should have been terrified of how easily I melted into his hold, but instead, I was terrified of how right it felt.

He leaned down, lips brushing dangerously close to my ear. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

My pulse leapt. “You don’t know him.”

“I don’t have to,” he said. “I know you.”

Before I could respond, he dipped his head lower, voice husky. “Do you want another secret?”

I swallowed hard. “No.”

He smiled. “Too bad. You don’t belong to him tonight.”

I jerked back slightly, heart racing. “What?”

“You belong to me.”

His words thundered louder than the music, louder than my heartbeat. I froze in his arms, torn between fury and longing, knowing that if I stayed another second, my entire world would change.

And in the chaos of the club, only one thought consumed me: *What if he’s right?