The moment froze.
My breath hitched in my throat as time seemed to stop.
Aiden's gaze shifted toward the entrance — and for the first time since I met him, I saw it.
Fear. Real fear, in his eyes.
Black suits flooded in like shadows in motion. The air grew heavy — suffocating — as if a god had entered the building. The kind of silence that only comes when danger walks into the room wrapped in silk and steel.
And there he was.
Dante Korven.
Unreal.
He didn't walk in — he claimed the space. Every step echoed like a warning. The bodyguards around him looked trained to kill, but it was Dante who terrified me.
Aiden's lips curled slowly into a smirk, masking whatever tension was cracking under his skin.
"Well, well…" he said, trying to sound unfazed. "Dante Korven… what a surprise. I didn't think you'd actually show up tonight."
Dante's cold eyes landed on Aiden, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth.
"Oh, Aiden," he said, voice calm — too calm. "You know I hate crowds… but I make exceptions."
Then, his eyes shifted.
To me.
And they didn't move.
Those piercing eyes stared like he was reading my soul, tasting my fear, loving the chaos in me. I could feel my skin heat under his gaze. My throat closed up. I couldn't move.
"What a… different flavor to taste, Aiden," Dante said smoothly, without breaking his stare.
My heart dropped.
What does that even mean?
Flavor? Was he calling me that? Did I look like something he wanted to consume?
Aiden just smiled darkly, but before I could piece anything together, I instinctively took a step back, trying to escape this mess before it swallowed me whole.
But no. The universe wasn't done messing with me.
Dante tilted his head toward Aiden. "Let's go to the VIP lounge," he said casually. Then his voice shifted — velvet and commanding — as he looked straight at me.
"You can bring your girl."
Your girl?
"I'm not his girl," I blurted, heart thumping too loud in my chest. "And I think I should leave now."
Dante's brows lifted ever so slightly, amused. His lips curled like he was enjoying my panic.
"Oh?" he turned to Aiden, chuckling softly. "She talks back. I like that."
Aiden stepped closer, blocking my path. "Oh come on, Jules. Don't be boring. Just one drink."
"I don't care, Aiden," I snapped. "I'm not here to entertain either of you."
Dante exhaled slowly, watching me like a predator with all the time in the world.
"Well, Aiden," he said, his voice a soft threat, "I'll be waiting for you."
He turned, and just like that, his men followed him — silent, precise, terrifying.
As soon as he disappeared into the shadows, Aiden moved in, his eyes scanning my face.
"You know," he said quietly, "I think you enjoy pretending to hate me. You always run — but you never leave."
"I should," I murmured, my face twisting in disgust. "But somehow, trouble always finds me."
He smirked, stepping closer again.
"Don't flatter yourself, Aiden. And for the record, I'm not scared of you."
"If you're not scared," he whispered, eyes gleaming, "come with me to the VIP. Let's test that."
I crossed my arms, annoyed beyond reason. "It's not fear. It's common sense. I don't want to be part of… whatever this is."
He chuckled darkly. "No, sweetheart… it's because you can't control yourself around me. That's why."
I rolled my eyes so hard I almost saw another universe. "I can control myself, and you know what? Fine. I'm coming. But stay the hell away from me."
Aiden laughed. "Okay, baby. Whatever you say."
He turned, nodding toward one of the men in suits. The man immediately peeled away into the crowd.
Then Aiden looked back at me, eyes dancing with something dark. "Need me to carry you upstairs, princess?"
"Sorry, Aiden, but I walk just fine," I muttered, brushing past him.
We walked in silence. I made sure to leave a healthy amount of space between us.
Two men in black suits and dark sunglasses guarded the entrance. They stepped aside wordlessly.
And then we entered.
Smoke. Alcohol. The bass of music vibrates through the floors. The smell of danger hung in the air like an expensive cologne. Lights flickered, dancers twisted around golden poles, heels clacking against marble.
And there — seated like royalty on a velvet throne — was him.
Dante Korven.
A glass of dark liquor in his hand, a cigarette burning between his fingers.
His eyes met mine again.
And this time, he smiled.
Like a man who always gets what he wants.