The kiss of the Devil

Chapter 2

POV: Seraphina

The double doors swung open, and the air in the ballroom instantly seemed to be sucked out.

The person who walked through them was a mountain of a man, standing at least six-foot-five, clad in a charcoal-gray three-piece suit that probably cost more than my entire life's earnings. His shoulders were impossibly broad, his walk possessed a predatory, effortless grace, and the sheer power radiating off him was enough to make the lesser Alphas in the room lower their heads in involuntary submission.

It was Damian Kingston.

The Alpha of the Kingston pack, the billionaire mogul who owned the very team Trent had just been drafted to, and, most importantly, Isabelle's father.

Isabelle, who had been smirking at me with delight moments before, turned ghostly pale. Her grip on Trent's arm tightened until her knuckles turned white. She had not expected her own father to be the one to walk through those doors.

The silence was absolute. Everyone in the ballroom was staring, waiting to see what the legendary, terrifying billionaire would do when he realised his daughter had just made a public spectacle of his company's draft party.

I also felt the eyes of every reporter, athlete, and socialite burning into me. They were all waiting for the punchline.

I am not going to be his victim, I told myself, the rage in my chest fuelling my every movement. I am not going to let that pathetic loser win.

I did not wait. I shoved past the frozen Trent and panicked Isabelle, my heels clicking sharply against the floor.

Damian stopped, scanning the room with those cold, detached eyes that seemed to look right through the wealth and pretence.

When I reached him, I closed the distance between us instantly, stepping right into his intimidatingly large shadow. He looked down at me, his brow furrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.

But I did not give him a chance to speak. I reached up, grabbed the stiff lapels of his suit jacket, and pulled him down to my level.

I kissed him.

I did not just brush my lips against his. I pressed my mouth firmly against his, pouring every ounce of my humiliation, my heartbreak, and my burning rage into the contact.

For a heartbeat, the world went dead silent. Then, the sound of a hundred camera shutters firing at once created a deafening roar. Somewhere in that crowd, I would later learn, the same phone that had been quietly filming the whole ordeal for Isabelle's friend was still rolling, capturing everything without me knowing.

I felt Damian's body stiffen, his hands hovering momentarily at his sides. I was terrified. The adrenaline that had driven me to this point began to evaporate, replaced by the terrifying realisation of just who I was kissing. I had just kissed the most dangerous man in the city.

But then, something else changed.

His hand suddenly clamped onto my waist. The heat of his palm burned through the thin fabric of my dress, sending a jolt of electric current straight to my core. He did not push me away but let out a low hum deep in his chest, a sound that felt less like a growl and more like a warning.

I pulled back just an inch, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Looking up into those icy, gray eyes, for a second, I felt like I was drowning in a storm.

"Do not push me away," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the camera flashes. I locked my gaze with his, my green eyes fierce and desperate. "Please. I will do anything you want. Just do not push me away."

I did not know why I said it. It was a promise born of pure, reckless desperation.

Damian did not move or blink. He just stared down at me, his gaze dropping to my lips and then back up to my eyes with a chilling, intense focus. His pupils had dilated, turning his icy irises into dark, bottomless voids.

Taking his silence as a yes, I stepped back, my legs feeling like jelly. Turning around, I held my head high and looked at Isabelle.

Isabelle's jaw was on the floor while Trent looked like he had been hit by a freight train. The entire ballroom was in a state of complete shock. No one had ever seen Damian Kingston allow anyone, especially not a "nobody," to approach him, let alone kiss him in public.

I walked over to Isabelle, my heart still racing, looking down at her shocked face.

"You lost the game, Isabelle. Get on your knees."

Her face turned an ugly shade of red, and she clenched her fist tightly. She looked frantically toward her father, hoping for a rescue, but Damian remained exactly where he was, his eyes still fixed on me intensely, as if lost in thought.

"I… I cannot…" she finally stammered when she saw he would not come to her aid, her voice shaking with rage.

"The rules were public," I reminded her, gesturing to the press. "Are you a liar, or just a sore loser?"

Under the collective stare of the city's elite and the relentless cameras, Isabelle slowly, agonisingly, sank to her knees. Her eyes were brimming with tears of pure hatred as she looked up at me.

"I am sorry. I stole your man, and I apologise for it," she hissed through gritted teeth.

I did not wait for her to finish. I turned on my heel and walked toward the exit. That was one revenge settled, now Trent alone remained.

As I passed Damian, I felt his gaze follow me. It was a heavy, possessive sensation that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

I ignored it, pushing through the doors and into the streets outside. After all, what was the possibility we would ever cross paths again? We were worlds apart, or so I believed that night, blissfully unaware that somewhere in that crowd, a stranger's phone had already begun uploading the clip of everything that just happened, and by morning, half of New York would have watched it.