1

They say the worst kind of heartbreak doesn’t come from someone you hate—it comes from someone you love so deeply, it rips something out of you when they leave.

That was Zane Wilde.

I should have walked away the moment he looked at me like that—like he already owned me.

His name slid off his lips like both a curse and a promise.

Zane Wilde.

The man women feared and craved in equal measure.

He lit a fire in me I never asked for.

And when he touched me, I knew—I would never come out of this whole.

He was everything I should have run from: cruelly handsome, dangerously rich, emotionally untouchable.

He didn’t enter my life.

He infiltrated it—smooth as sin, cold as truth, beautiful as the kind of danger you can’t resist.

He didn’t ask for permission.

He invaded—my space, my thoughts, my body.

And I let him.

I thought I had control.

I thought I could survive him.

But no one survives Zane Wilde.

Not untouched.

Not unchanged.

I was supposed to guard my heart.

But love doesn’t follow rules.

Now I’m left piecing together what’s left of me while he walks away untouched—like he never bled me dry.

He left a ruin where my heart used to be.

A story where silence should have been.

And still… I’d choose him all over again.

Because that’s the thing about savage love—

It doesn’t ask for permission.

It devours.

And the night it all began?

It was under glittering chandeliers, in a ballroom that smelled of champagne and secrets—the night I first saw Zane Wilde.

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The ballroom glittered under a cascade of crystal chandeliers, the hum of laughter and clinking glasses weaving a symphony of luxury and power. The air smelled faintly of roses and money, a heady mix that belonged to a world I didn’t often step into.

I adjusted the strap of my sleek black dress nervously, my fingers brushing the smooth satin. Amanda had chosen it for me—naturally. She claimed it was “timeless and impossible to ignore” though I wasn’t sure if she was talking about the dress or her stubborn determination to drag me out of my shell.

I wasn’t here for the party.

If it had been up to me, I would have been curled on my couch with a glass of wine and a guilty-pleasure drama series. But Amanda—my best friend, my self-appointed life coach, and a master at mingling—had insisted this event would be “good for me.” Good for what, she hadn’t specified.

After a breakup that had shredded the last four years of my life, I wasn’t interested in flirting, in small talk, in the empty promises of romance. Healing had been messy, exhausting, and isolating. Even after nearly a year of being single, I still wasn’t sure if I was ready.

But Amanda thought differently.

According to her, it was time I dipped my toes back into the so-called dating pool. She seemed convinced the man of my dreams was just around the corner.

I doubted it.

While Amanda floated effortlessly between groups of socialites and business magnates, I lingered near the edges of the room, a glass of sparkling water in my hand. I studied the crowd with detached curiosity. Men in tailored suits and women in glittering gowns laughed too loudly, their smiles polished and practiced.

I felt like an intruder here.

Invisible, yet exposed all at once.

Then, across the room, something shifted.

It was subtle at first, like the faintest ripple in a calm lake. A few heads turned. Laughter faltered. Even the background music seemed quieter as he stepped into view.

A man.

Tall. Commanding. Magnetic in a way that was less about beauty and more about the undeniable pull of raw presence. His suit was a flawless cut of midnight black, hugging his frame as though tailored by the hands of a perfectionist. His dark hair caught the chandelier light with every step, but it was his eyes that froze me in place—icy blue, sharp enough to slice through the crowd and land on me like a target.

For a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe.

His gaze wasn’t the kind that brushed past politely. No, it lingered, steady and deliberate, as if he’d already decided I was worth noticing. Heat curled low in my stomach, unwelcome yet impossible to ignore.

I tore my eyes away, forcing myself to sip the water I didn’t want. It fizzed against my lips, sharp and cold, but did nothing to cool the sudden flush creeping across my skin.

Get a grip, Vivian.

This wasn’t me. I wasn’t the kind of woman who melted under a stranger’s stare. I wasn’t the kind of woman who believed in sparks at first sight.

And yet—

When I glanced back, he was still watching me.

A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth, not soft, but dangerous. The kind of smile that suggested he knew exactly what effect he had on people. The kind that warned you to run, even as your feet itched to move closer.

The crowd seemed to part for him as he walked, his steps unhurried but purposeful. Each movement was laced with confidence, with power that didn’t need to be announced. People greeted him—some eagerly, some with a flicker of unease—but he barely acknowledged them, his focus unyielding.

On me.

My pulse raced.

What was happening?

Amanda appeared at my side, her cheeks flushed from excitement and champagne. “Viv! Why are you hiding back here? You look stunning. Honestly, I could kill you for wasting it.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but the words tangled as Amanda’s gaze followed mine. Her eyebrows arched. “Oh.”

I didn’t need to ask. She’d seen him.

“Oh,” she repeated, this time with a smirk that was equal parts mischief and warning. “Do you know who that is?”

I shook my head, my throat too tight for speech.

“That,” Amanda whispered, leaning closer, “is Zane Wilde.”

The name rolled through me like thunder, unfamiliar yet heavy, as if it belonged to someone people didn’t dare forget.

Amanda’s smirk widened. “Dangerous, rich, untouchable. Women chase him. Men fear him. He doesn’t usually show up at events like this, which means…” she shrugged, “…tonight just got a lot more interesting.”

Zane Wilde.

Even his name sounded like a warning.

Before I could ask Amanda what exactly she meant by “dangerous,” he reached us. One moment he was across the room, the next he was standing before me, taller than I expected, his presence consuming the very air around us.

“Good evening.” His voice was deep, velvet over steel, the kind of voice that could command a room without ever rising. His gaze flicked briefly to Amanda, then returned to me, unwavering. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

The words were simple. Polite. But the way he said them, low and deliberate, made them feel like something else entirely.

Amanda’s grin was wicked as she excused herself with suspicious speed. “I’ll just… grab another drink.”

And just like that, I was alone with him.

My heart thudded against my ribs, each beat echoing in the silence between us.

I managed to find my voice. “Vivian. Vivian Upton.”

His lips curved, not into a smile, but into something sharper. “Vivian.” He said my name slowly, as though testing its weight on his tongue.

The sound of it left me trembling.

In that moment, I knew two things with terrifying clarity:

One—I should stay as far away from Zane Wilde as possible.

And two—I wouldn’t.