Chapter Twenty: The Social Collision

The Hamilton Hotel’s grand ballroom glittered like something out of a dream. Crystal chandeliers spilled golden light over velvet-draped tables, the champagne tower at the center shimmering as though it were made of molten stars. A string quartet played near the stage, elegant and restrained, their music barely cutting through the hum of voices.

This was no ordinary hospital event.

This was the Hamilton Medical City Gala, an evening where the richest of the rich gathered, not for charity, but for power. The biggest shareholders of the hospital, the titans of global corporations, and the heiresses of old money families filled the room in glittering gowns and tailored tuxedos. Every conversation was a deal, every smile a strategy.

Sarah had attended galas before. She knew how to hold a glass of champagne, how to glide across the room in silk without looking flustered, how to make polite small talk about expansion projects.

But tonight, she couldn’t concentrate.

Because he was here.

Liam Hamilton.

The room seemed to shift when he entered, as though every breath, every glance, every heart had been waiting for him.

He was sin in a tuxedo, black, cut so sharply it clung to his tall frame with devastating precision. The bow tie sat perfectly against his throat, but his dark hair, styled back with just the right hint of rebellion, whispered of the untamed fire beneath the polish. His jaw looked freshly carved, his mouth curved in that arrogant smirk that ruined women’s composure in seconds. And his eyes, steel-gray, burning, commanding, swept the ballroom like he already owned every person inside.

Sarah’s throat tightened.

She had seen him raw, stripped of elegance, his body pressed against hers, his tongue mapping every inch of her skin. Just yesterday, he had strapped her to the OR table, the cold steel beneath her back, her cries swallowed by his mouth. She still felt it, his teeth grazing her collarbone, the rough scrape of his palm down her thigh, the way he consumed her until her body betrayed her over and over.

And now here he was, immaculate and untouchable.

Women fell at his feet without shame. Heiresses with red lips and diamonds leaned too close, their manicured fingers brushing his sleeve. Shareholders’ daughters clutched his arm, their laughter too high, too sweet. He let them orbit him, that wicked smirk playing at his lips as if he were their sun, and they his willing planets.

Sarah’s chest burned with jealousy she refused to name. She told herself she didn’t care. She told herself he was twenty years younger, the heir to an empire, the most desired bachelor in the city. He doesn’t belong to you. He never will.

And yet, her body rebelled. Every time one of those women touched him, her skin prickled with fire. Every laugh aimed at him twisted inside her like a knife.

She swallowed champagne too quickly, the bubbles sharp and unforgiving. Her pulse beat hot, memories of his mouth on her body threatening to drown her in public shame.

God, stop thinking about him. Stop thinking about how he made you beg.

She excused herself before her composure shattered, weaving through silk and perfume toward the balcony. The night air was a reprieve, cool against her flushed skin. She gripped the marble railing, forcing deep breaths.

But Liam cut through the crowd effortlessly, women reaching for him as if unwilling to let him go. But he didn’t stop until he was behind her, so close she felt his breath graze her neck.

“You always run when it gets too much,” Liam’s voice, low, velvety, devastating, wrapped around her like a chain.

Her pulse stuttered.

But the doors shut softly behind her.

“You should go back to your admirers,” she said, fighting for coolness though her voice betrayed her.

He closed the distance, every step deliberate, predatory. “Admirers?” His lips curved. “They’re nothing.”

“It didn’t look like nothing,” Sarah snapped, but it came out more desperate than dismissive.

He tilted her chin with his thumb, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were molten steel, and his touch burned.

“You’re jealous.” His voice was a quiet, dangerous accusation.

She shook her head, though her body trembled. “I’m not—”

“Jealous, sweetheart?” He repeated. His voice was a low, velvet tease, just for her.

She stiffened, clutching her glass like a shield. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckled, dark and dangerous. “Funny… You weren’t saying that last night.”

Her chest constricted. Damn him.

Before she could turn, his hand slid around her waist, guiding her toward the balcony doors. He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to. Her body obeyed him, as though it had always belonged to him.

Outside, the night air hit her flushed cheeks. The city skyline glittered beyond the terrace, but Sarah barely saw it because Liam caged her against the railing, his hand pressed firm at her lower back.

“Do you see them?” He tilted his head toward the ballroom, where the women still watched, whispering behind champagne flutes. “Every single one of them wants me.” His lips brushed the shell of her ear, igniting a shiver down her spine. “But only you know how I taste.”

Her pulse stumbled.

“Liam…” she whispered, breath trembling.

His eyes burned into hers, wicked and unyielding. “You can fight me all you want, Sarah. Pretend you’re above this. Pretend you’re not thinking about the way I had you begging last night. But let me make one thing clear…” He leaned in, lips grazing hers without touching. “…you’re mine. No one else gets what you had.”

Her heart slammed so violently, she thought it might burst. She wanted to push him away, to deny him, but her body leaned forward, desperate for the kiss he was dangling in front of her.

But just before his mouth claimed hers,

the balcony doors creaked open.

“Liam?” A feminine voice called sweetly, heels clicking against the stone. “We were wondering where you went…”

Sarah froze. Her blood iced.

Liam didn’t move away. His mouth was still a breath from hers, his hand still branding her hip. His smirk was infuriatingly wicked as he murmured against her lips.

“Careful, sweetheart. You’re about to get caught.