The glass doors of the grand ballroom opened with a hush of luxury. Velvet curtains swayed as the evening breeze caressed the edges, and all heads subtly turned toward the woman in blue.
Alina.
Dressed in a silky, short midnight-blue gown that shimmered like water under moonlight, she stepped in with the kind of confidence that could cut through noise. Her heels clicked—black with crimson soles—and the sound, though quiet, was unmistakable. Her makeup was flawless, her smile radiant, and the champagne in her hand barely trembled as she scanned the lavish hall with precision.
She wasn't here for pleasure. She was here for her.
That one girl. The one people whispered about. The girl with the effortless charm and mystery. The one Alina would use as a sweet, poetic weapon to dent the oversized pride of the man who left her bitter and furious: Andrew Wood.
And then—there she was.
Alina's gaze zeroed in on a woman in green. Not the trendy kind of green, but deep emerald that flattered her dark skin like royalty. She stood amidst a cluster of women that looked like they stepped off fashion magazine covers, yet this one glowed differently.
Angel.
Her name floated back to Alina through overheard introductions earlier that week. She hadn't needed much more. One glance now confirmed everything she'd heard—tall, graceful, with a magnetic smile and natural charisma that made it hard to look away.
Alina moved.
Her hips swayed, each step graceful and deliberate. Within seconds, she stood in front of the glowing green goddess.
"You must be the prettiest lady I've seen in this entire room," she purred with a grin.
Angel turned, amused, and let out a soft laugh. "Your standards must be criminally low."
Alina smirked. "On the contrary. My standards are exactly why I'm here. And by the way... your dress?" She leaned closer, voice dipping. "On fire. I wouldn't mind being the one to take it off tonight."
Angel raised an eyebrow but smiled, amused. "You'd have to wrestle someone else for that... and I mean taking it off for the night."
They both laughed. It was easy—too easy.
Names were exchanged. "Angel," she said, her voice a melody. "You?"
"Alina."
The connection simmered in the silence that followed. Their phones buzzed at the same time—distraction. A moment of silence as both glanced down. And across the room, unnoticed by either, someone was watching.
Andrew.
Early thirties, tall, devastatingly handsome, and dangerous in all the ways that made women forget common sense. He leaned against the bar, swirling his whiskey, eyes locked on the two laughing women. He said nothing for a moment—he only stared.
Then he turned to one of his suited bodyguards. "Who's the girl in the green dress? With Alina."
The bodyguard didn't miss a beat. "That's Angel, sir. Michael's wife."
Andrew's brow lifted. "Michael?" he echoed.
"Yes. Michael Ford. Your archenemy."
A slow, surprised smile curled at the corner of Andrew's mouth. Of course.
This just got interesting.
Across the room, Alina noticed the subtle shift in energy. She didn't even need to turn around to know he'd seen them. Andrew always made his presence known.
"Hey," she whispered, gently brushing Angel's arm. "Do you know that man?" She flicked her eyes toward Andrew's direction.
Angel looked. "The one in ash-blue suit with the guards? No. Should I?"
Alina gave a little smile. "That's Andrew Wood. The only son of billionaire designer Gregory Wood. Closet and Cushion empire? That's him."
Angel gasped. "That's… huge."
"Mhm. He's not some spoiled heir either. Built his own brand alongside his father's. One of those men who know how to make an empire and break hearts while doing it."
They laughed again. Alina leaned in, voice dripping with false casualness.
"He's also known to have slept with 99% of the women in this room. Including a few friends' girlfriends."
Angel raised a brow. "And the 1% left?"
Alina turned toward her, smirking. "That would be you."
Angel blinked. Then she laughed. "Well, that's comforting. And inconvenient."
"Exactly. You're the mystery he hasn't solved. The door he can't open. And the fact that you're married?" Alina chuckled. "That's going to burn him."
Angel looked back over, watching as Andrew subtly inched closer. "He's coming this way."
"Of course he is," Alina murmured. "And you, darling? You're about to become the star of his obsession."
Angel looked at her, half-joking, half-curious. "And you? What do you gain?"
Alina sipped her champagne and smiled wickedly. "A front-row seat to his humiliation."
And just like that, the game began.
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