I Am Just a Walking Disaster

Amara Cross POV

“We’ve arrived, Miss Amara.”

My eyes widened, my throat went dry. The sight in front of me didn’t feel real. A massive yacht rose high into the night, glowing under hundreds of golden lights that hugged its surface.

I put on the mask slowly. The cold lace brushed my skin, while the wild black feather teased my forehead. I climbed the stairs decorated with white rose petals and crystal details, my hand resting lightly on the driver’s arm. My heart pounded like a loud drum inside my chest.

“Is this a party… or a dream?” I whispered to myself. My voice vanished under elegant laughter and the soft rustle of silk dresses.

I turned to look for my escort, but he had disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone in front of all this luxury.

I took a deep breath. Expensive perfumes filled my lungs. I started walking carefully, watching the masks around me, feeling small in this world. Everything felt huge. Bigger than my courage, which was slowly falling apart.

I decided to look for a waiter and ask about Mr. Dorian. I headed toward a corner, but before I took my third step, my shoulder slammed into a solid body.

The wine glass in the large man’s hand shook. Purple liquid spilled heavily over his jacket and pants. I gasped in panic and covered my mouth, then quickly checked my wine colored dress. It survived, somehow.

“Oh no. I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to.”

I didn’t finish. The man lifted his hand in blind anger, like he was about to hit me. I shrank back, raised my arms, covered my face, waiting for the blow.

It never came.

A strong hand clamped around his wrist. Hard enough to make his bones crack. In that moment, the scent of sandalwood and expensive tobacco slid into my breath. A familiar scent. It reached deep into my chest, and I froze.

“Try to touch even one hair on her head,” the voice said, cold and sharp, sending chills through the air.

“And this hand will become food for the dogs. Along with the rest of you.”

The fat man trembled and stepped back in shame.

“Mr. Dorian… I apologize. I didn’t know she was…”

“Leave.” Dorian said it calmly. That calm was scarier than shouting.

He grabbed my wrist. His grip was warm and firm. Safe. Powerful. I walked beside him, trying to match his confident steps, lifting the edge of my dress so I wouldn’t trip over its shine. We stopped in front of a white table. Only then did I really look at him.

“Mr. Dorian… I didn’t mean for that to happen. I swear. I’m just a walking disaster. I spilled a drink on someone before I even found my place.”

He looked at me steadily. His eyes behind the mask followed my nervous movements without blinking. Then he spoke slowly, deeply.

“Amara… the dress fits your small body like it was made for you alone.”

He ignored my clumsiness completely, like my apology didn’t matter next to how I looked to him. I lowered my head, clutching the fabric of my dress with shaking fingers.

“Thank you… and you look handsome too.”

I said it honestly. My voice was soft, like a breeze. Suddenly, he stepped closer. His breath brushed my ear.

“I imagined this dress on you before. But you exceeded every expectation. In the most unreal way.”

A sweet shiver ran down my back. My fingers trembled from his dangerous closeness. I stepped back gently when someone approached us.

“Mr. Dorian. I’m shocked you attended the party this year. I thought you’d skip it like always.”

The guest looked at me openly, impressed, then whistled.

“And you brought a beauty with you. You lit up the party, my moon. I’m Martin.”

He reached out his hand with a wide smile. I opened my mouth to answer.

“Hello, Mr. Martin. My name is Ama…”

I didn’t finish. Dorian pushed my hand away with jealous roughness and offered his own hand instead. His voice hissed through clenched teeth.

“Have you greeted everyone yet?”

Martin nodded awkwardly and retreated fast.

A waiter passed by. I took a cold glass of lemon juice to cool my burning face. Dorian chose wine. Then suddenly, the music changed. “A Thousand Years.” Soft piano notes drifted slowly, like a call to lovers’ souls.

Guests began to sway together in the center of the hall. I looked around nervously, clasping my hands in front of me, like a stranger lost in wonderland.

“Amara…”

His voice came from beside me. It hit my heart like an unexpected beat.

He held out his hand. The mask hid his eyes, but I could read exactly what he wanted.

My eyes widened.

“I… I don’t know how to dance.”

He lifted an eyebrow slightly. His tone left no room for argument.

“And I don’t accept no.”

His hand closed around mine, gentle in a shocking way, and he led me to the center of the floor. My first step was shaky. He pulled me closer. His hand settled on my lower back, steadying me. His other hand held mine. We moved with the dreamy rhythm.

The world faded. The lights. The people. Even the mask. Only his scent and his closeness remained.

“You said you don’t know how to dance…”

He whispered near my cheek. I murmured, breathing him in.

“I still don’t.”

“But you move like you were made for this.”

I swallowed hard. I felt like I was melting in his arms. The song continued. Time stood still, respecting our dance.

Suddenly, he released my arms, then lifted them to circle his neck. I gasped softly as he stepped closer, my chest pressing against his solid one.

“This position is better,” he whispered near my ear. His deep voice echoed inside my bones.

I tried to catch my breath. Then his other hand slid down to my waist and pulled me in with stunning control.

“Amara… your waist is narrow.” He said it slowly, like he was touching me for the first time.

Then he added, “It needs arms to hold it tight. And nothing fits it better than my hands.”

My breath disappeared completely. I no longer existed outside his arms. Trapped in his voice. In his control.

I closed my eyes and let my body follow his lead. I didn’t know if I was dancing anymore… or slowly dissolving into his embrace.