Chapter Five: Mine to Ruin

Dominic

I saw her the second she walked in.

The entire restaurant faded into background noise — the soft murmur of conversations, the clink of glass, the low hum of a string quartet tucked somewhere near the back. None of it mattered.

Amelia Carter had a way of dragging every ounce of air from a room without even realizing it.

And tonight… fuck.

That dress.

A mistake. A calculated, reckless, beautiful fucking mistake.

It clung to her body like sin, dipping low along her back, hugging those curves I had no goddamn business noticing. And those legs — smooth, bare, long enough to wrap around me and—

I gripped the glass in my hand, welcoming the sting of liquor as I downed the last of it.

She didn’t belong here. In my world. In this restaurant. At my table.

But she was here anyway.

Because I’d put her here.

And I wasn’t going to send her away.

Not yet.

She moved through the restaurant like she didn’t realize every set of male eyes followed her, and some of the women’s too. They didn’t see what I did. They didn’t know the girl she used to be. The girl with scraped knees, messy hair, too stubborn to stay down when she lost.

That fire in her — it was still there.

And when she slid into the booth across from me, chin high, eyes sharp, I felt it hit me like a fucking freight train.

She thought she was safe.

She had no idea.

“You’re late,” I said, just to see that spark.

And God, there it was.

She bristled, shot back with something snarky, and I barely heard the words. I was too focused on the way her lips moved when she spoke. Full, pink, tempting in a way that made every rational part of my brain go quiet.

That mouth.

I should’ve known better than to bring her here. To test myself like this.

But the truth was — I liked it.

Liked the way she pushed back.

Liked the way she made me want things I didn’t have a right to.

The waiter spoke, and I waved him off without listening. I wasn’t here for the food.

I watched the way Amelia’s throat moved when she swallowed. The way her fingers toyed with the stem of her wine glass. She was trying to play it cool, trying to act like sitting across from me in this low-lit room, dressed like that, didn’t mess with her head.

But it did.

I could see it.

In the way her pupils dilated when my gaze lingered too long.

In the faint flush that rose to her cheeks when I said her name.

Carter.

Always Carter. Because if I called her Amelia…

It would be over.

“This job,” she said, leaning in like she was about to demand answers. “You hired me for a reason. And it’s not because I’m the most qualified.”

I couldn’t help the smirk. She was sharp, this one. Smart enough to see through my bullshit. Brave enough to call me on it.

And fuck, it made me hard.

“No,” I told her, voice low enough to make her shift in her seat. “I hired you because I wanted to see if you could handle it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Handle what?”

I let the silence stretch, let it fill with everything I wasn’t saying.

The job. The pressure. Me.

The fact that sitting across from me in that fucking dress made me want to do things I hadn’t let myself want in years.

I leaned back, letting my eyes drag over her one more time — the curve of her throat, the delicate pulse fluttering there, the stubborn set of her mouth.

“Me.”

Her breath hitched. I heard it. Saw it. Felt it.

I shouldn’t have said it.

But I wasn’t in the business of denying myself things anymore.

And she had no idea how far I was willing to go.