2

I excused myself, and made my way to the washroom. I kept muttering his name.

Zane Wilde...

Zane Wilde...

Zane Wilde...

Who the hell was this man that got me so worked up?

I have never met anyone like him. I can't even say if he was good or bad for me, but I didn't plan on finding out.

Realizing I had stayed in the bathroom longer than I intended, I wiped my hands with a tissue and was about to go out when I heard a thumping sound from the next room followed by a woman screaming and moaning loudly. My curiosity piqued.

The thumping sound continued, her voice became louder and after a few minutes, she let out a large cry and started to take deep breaths.

I guess someone fucked her mind out for her to scream like that.

So rich people can be reckless too.

But strangely in that moment, I felt a sensation between my thighs. I haven't had sex for almost a year now, and till this minute, I never even thought about it.

After a few seconds, when I thought they were gone, I stepped out, and ran into a man with damped shirt, messy hair washing his hands. He raised his head and looked at me in the mirror.

My heart skipped at that stare.

The same stare that made me seek refuge in the washroom.

Zane Wilde.

I didn't say anything, I just proceeded to leave, but he blocked my way. I moved to the right, and he did the same to stop me, and then to the left, and he followed me still.

I sighed. "This is for ladies. Gents washroom is on the other side."

He chuckled, "I remember where I asked to build the washrooms."

"You're a builder?" I purposely teased.

He widened the corner of his lip, "Owner."

He owned the building. He must be stinkingly rich.

I tried to walk past him but he blocked my way again. "Hope we didn't make too much noise?"

He was asking about what the sexual noise I heard. I wondered who the woman was. And then I wondered why I cared?

"Just let me go," I said instead.

He started to close the distance between us. For every step he took forward, I took another backward.

"Did it turn you on?" he whispered.

I felt the sensation between my thighs again. Before this man, I was not being myself.

My back hit the wall and he caged me between.

I looked straightly into his eyes not giving any sign of nervousness that he has already produced in my body.

He leaned closer and his erection shamelessly pressed into my stomach.

Didn't he just fuck a woman like few minutes ago? How come he is still hard?

His knuckles traced the length of my cheek. I flinched at his touch. "I can tell you're wet." He huskily whispered in my ear in a sensual tone.

His stubble beard tickled me, it passed a sensation in the pit of my stomach. I masked it with pure disgust. I pushed him away, and he pushed me back to the wall.

He gripped my two hands in his one large hand, pressed them against the wall above my head. His other hand raised my dress and slid into my panties.

I was dripping wet as he predicted.

I tried to scream, but his lips pressed on mine and muffled it.

He gave my wet core a very harsh and long squeeze that made my legs jelly and made me want to come right in his hands.

But I fought, and he left me after just a few seconds. A part of me wanted him to continue to do whatever he wanted to do with me, and the other part stomped on his foot and rushed out of the room.

I am a mess. It was just a squeeze and nothing more. Why does it have such an impact on me? How did I even let him do that to me?

But damn! I need to come, have sex or I'll stay a mess.

Zane's touch just made me realize how much I needed it.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding so fast I thought the whole ballroom could hear it. Amanda’s voice reached me, distant, muffled by the rush of blood in my ears.

“Viv, where have you been?” she pressed, frowning as she searched my face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I forced a laugh, too brittle to be convincing. “I’m fine. Just… needed some air.”

Her eyes narrowed, but before she could pry further, I felt it.

That stare.

Zane Wilde had stepped out of the hallway, his presence sliding over me like heat against bare skin. He was composed now, his damp shirt replaced by a fresh jacket, his messy hair tamed—yet the memory of what had just happened was still hot on my skin. His smirk was lazy, knowing, as he flicked his lighter open and shut with an almost taunting rhythm.

Amanda’s gaze flicked between us, her lips parting in surprise. “You—oh my God. You met with him?”

"Met with who?" I asked, trying hard to deny it.

"Zane Wilde..." Amanda replied, "He is a very dangerous man,"

I forced my spine straight, gripping a glass of champagne so tightly my knuckles ached. “Excuse me,” I muttered to Amanda, desperate to escape before I did something reckless. But Zane beat me to it. His deep voice carried effortlessly, though it was pitched just low enough that it felt like a secret meant for me.

“Vivian.”

The way he said my name made goosebumps rise across my arms.

He closed the distance with unhurried strides, the crowd subtly shifting to make room for him without even realizing it. People noticed him. Respected him. Feared him.

When he reached me, he didn’t touch me—but his presence was close enough to feel like a caress. “Running already?” he murmured, his icy eyes gleaming with amusement.

I tilted my chin, summoning every ounce of control I had left. “I wasn’t running. I was leaving.”

His smirk deepened, and I hated how my pulse tripped at the sight of it. “Leaving me?”

“I don’t even know you,” I snapped softly.

“Not yet.” His voice dipped lower, meant only for me. “But you will.”

Heat flared between us, sharp and dangerous.

I should have walked away. I should have thrown my drink in his face, called him out, something. But instead, I stood rooted to the spot, my breath uneven, as his hand brushed deliberately close to mine—not touching, just hovering, daring me to close the gap.

“I’m not like the men you’ve known,” Zane said quietly, his gaze locked on mine as though he could see straight through me. “And you’re not as uninterested as you pretend.”

Anger and desire warred inside me. “You’re arrogant.”

“Confident,” he corrected smoothly. “And right.”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him he wasn’t right, that I had no interest in a man who could make a woman scream behind closed doors and then pin me against a wall like I was his next indulgence.

But the truth was… he wasn’t entirely wrong.

My body had betrayed me.

And he knew it.

Before I could respond, someone called his name from across the room—an older man in a tuxedo, surrounded by others who looked like they owed him their loyalty. Zane’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t move immediately. His attention lingered on me, sharp and unrelenting.

Then he leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed my ear. “This isn’t over, Vivian.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving me trembling in the center of the glittering ballroom, with Amanda rushing back to my side and questions I couldn’t even begin to answer.