Anna stared at the mysterious text message until her eyes blurred. "See you tonight?" The words had haunted her through a sleepless night and an awkward breakfast where Alexander critiqued her choice of morning outfit before disappearing to his office.
Now, sitting in the back of their Bentley as it wound through the Hamptons traffic toward the annual polo charity match, Anna couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to change. The message had never been explained. No one had appeared at her door, no follow-up texts had arrived. Just those four words hanging in the air like a promise or a threat.
"You're fidgeting," Alexander observed without looking up from his laptop. Even on weekends, even at charity events, he never stopped working.
Anna stilled her hands in her lap. She'd been unconsciously twisting her wedding ring, a nervous habit that Alexander despised. "Sorry."
"The Hendersons will be there today," Alexander continued, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "James is considering our firm for his family trust restructuring. Eight hundred million. I need you to charm his wife."
"Of course." Anna turned to stare out the window at the sprawling estates they passed. Mansions that cost more than small countries' GDP, each one a monument to someone's financial conquest. "What's she like?"
"Boring. Talks about her horses and her charity work. Pretend to be interested."
Anna almost laughed at the irony. Pretend to be interested in charity work while sitting in a car worth more than most people's houses, on their way to a polo match that was essentially a tax write-off disguised as philanthropy. Her entire life was pretending to be interested in things that meant nothing to her.
The Meadow Club looked like something out of a fairy tale—rolling green fields, white tents fluttering in the ocean breeze, women in flowing dresses and men in blazers that cost more than most people's cars. Anna had been coming to this event for years, but today something felt different. Electric. Like the air before a storm.
"Alexander! Anna!" Patricia Henderson rushed toward them, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed despite the wind, her floral Zimmermann dress floating around her like she was posing for a magazine shoot. "You both look absolutely divine!"
Anna returned Patricia's air-kisses, falling automatically into the familiar routine of society small talk. But her mind kept drifting back to that text message. Who had been watching her at the museum? Who knew her number?
"Anna, you simply must see the new mare James bought me," Patricia was saying, her hand clutching Anna's arm with the intensity of someone desperate for validation. "She's a beauty. Cost more than a Ferrari, but James says I deserve the best."
"I'd love to see her," Anna replied, though she couldn't care less about Patricia's expensive horse.
The afternoon unfolded like every other Hamptons charity event—champagne flowing, conversations that meant nothing, carefully orchestrated displays of wealth disguised as community spirit. Anna moved through it all like she was underwater, smiling and nodding while her thoughts spiraled.
She was refilling her champagne glass when she saw him.
He stood near the polo field, one hand casually shoved in his pocket, the other holding a glass of what looked like whiskey despite the early hour. His hair caught the sunlight like spun gold, and when he laughed at something someone said, the sound carried across the field like music.
Victor Roman. Anna recognized him from magazine covers and society pages, though they'd never been formally introduced. The venture capital golden boy who'd built his empire before his thirty-fifth birthday, who dated actresses and models and left broken hearts scattered across three continents.
He was everything Alexander wasn't—relaxed where Alexander was rigid, warm where Alexander was cold, magnetic where Alexander was merely powerful.
"Who is Anna staring at?" Patricia followed her gaze and let out a little gasp. "Oh my. Victor Roman. Isn't he just..."
"Trouble," finished Margaret Chen, appearing beside them with her own champagne glass. "That man is pure trouble wrapped in a very expensive suit."
"The best kind of trouble," Patricia giggled, clearly tipsy from her third glass of champagne.
Anna watched as Victor moved through the crowd, stopping to chat with various groups, his smile easy and genuine. Every woman he spoke to lit up like Christmas morning. Even from across the field, Anna could feel the charisma rolling off him in waves.
"His last girlfriend was that Swedish model," Margaret continued, clearly enjoying the gossip. "What was her name? Astrid something. Poor thing thought she was going to be the next Mrs. Roman, but he dropped her after six months. They always think they'll be the one to tame him."
"Maybe they will," Anna said quietly, surprising herself.
Patricia laughed. "Anna Kingsley, are you suggesting that bad boys can be reformed? How deliciously naive."
Anna felt her cheeks warm. She wasn't naive—she was trapped. But watching Victor Roman move through the crowd with such easy confidence made something inside her chest flutter to life. Something she'd thought Alexander had killed years ago.
"Ladies," a smooth voice said behind them, and Anna's heart stopped.
She turned to find Victor Roman standing three feet away, his green eyes dancing with amusement. Up close, he was even more devastating—tall and lean with the kind of tan that came from sailing yachts in the Mediterranean, not lying under tanning lamps. His white linen shirt was open at the collar, and Anna caught a glimpse of golden skin beneath.
"Victor," Patricia practically purred. "We were just talking about you."
"All good things, I hope." His smile was pure sin wrapped in charm.
"Anna here thinks bad boys can be reformed," Margaret said with a wicked grin.
Victor's gaze shifted to Anna, and she felt like she'd been hit by lightning. His eyes were the color of sea glass, flecked with gold, and when they focused on her, the rest of the world seemed to fade away.
"Do you now?" he said, his voice low and amused. "And what makes you think I need reforming?"
Anna opened her mouth, then closed it again. What was she supposed to say to that? That she'd been watching him from across the field like some lovesick teenager? That his reputation preceded him? That she'd never actually spoken to a bad boy in her life because her entire existence was carefully curated and controlled?
"I think," Anna said slowly, finding her voice, "that most people are more complicated than their reputations suggest."
Victor's eyebrows rose slightly. "Diplomatic. I like that."
"Anna's very diplomatic," Margaret agreed. "Has to be, being married to Alexander Kingsley."
Something flickered across Victor's face at the mention of Anna's husband—surprise, maybe, or calculation. "Ah yes, the Wall Street king himself. Is he here?"
"Business call," Anna said automatically.
"On a Saturday? At a polo match?" Victor's grin turned wicked. "Either the man's dedicated or he's avoiding the horses."
Despite herself, Anna laughed. Actually laughed, not the polite society titter she'd perfected but a real, genuine sound that surprised her. "He's not much for horses."
"What about you? Are you much for horses?"
The question was innocent enough, but the way Victor asked it—with that slight tilt of his head and those dancing eyes—made it feel like he was asking something entirely different.
"I appreciate them from a distance," Anna replied carefully.
"Safe choice." Victor's gaze never left her face. "Though sometimes the most beautiful things are the most dangerous up close."
The air between them crackled with tension. Anna was acutely aware of her breathing, of the way her pulse had quickened, of how Victor's presence seemed to pull her toward him like gravity.
"Victor Roman," Patricia interrupted, clearly annoyed at being ignored. "I don't believe you've met Anna properly. Anna Kingsley, meet Manhattan's most eligible bachelor."
"Mrs. Kingsley." Victor extended his hand, and when Anna took it, his fingers lingered just a moment too long. His skin was warm, calloused in a way that suggested he did more than just write checks and attend board meetings.
"Mr. Roman," Anna managed, though her voice sounded strange to her own ears.
"Please, call me Victor. We're all friends here, aren't we?"
There was something in the way he said "friends" that made Anna's stomach flip. Like he was testing the word, seeing how it fit, knowing it wasn't quite what he meant.
"Anna!" Alexander's voice cut through the moment like a blade. Anna dropped Victor's hand and turned to see her husband striding across the grass, his jaw tight with what she recognized as barely controlled irritation.
"Alexander," Anna said brightly, slipping immediately back into wife mode. "I was just meeting Victor Roman."
Alexander's handshake with Victor was firm to the point of aggression, a clear display of territorial marking that made Anna's cheeks burn with embarrassment.
"Roman," Alexander said curtly. "I know your reputation."
Victor's smile never wavered, but Anna caught a flash of steel in his eyes. "All good things, I hope."
"That depends on your perspective."
The tension between the two men was thick enough to cut. Anna found herself caught between them, acutely aware that she was somehow the prize in a contest she hadn't even known was happening.
"Well," Patricia said with nervous laughter, "I think I hear them calling for the match to start."
The group began to disperse, but Victor caught Anna's arm gently as she turned to follow Alexander.
"Mrs. Kingsley," he said quietly, his voice meant for her ears alone. "I hope we have the chance to continue our conversation about horses. And dangerous beautiful things."
Anna's breath caught. She glanced at Alexander, who was already walking toward the polo field, then back at Victor. "I should go."
"Of course you should." Victor released her arm, but his eyes held hers for one more heartbeat. "But should and want are two very different things, aren't they?"
Before Anna could respond, he was gone, melting back into the crowd with the same easy grace with which he'd appeared.
Anna stood frozen for a moment, her arm tingling where he'd touched her, his words echoing in her mind. Should and want. How long had it been since she'd considered what she wanted instead of what she should do?
"Anna!" Alexander's voice was sharp with impatience.
She hurried to catch up with him, but her mind stayed with Victor. The way he'd looked at her like she was interesting, like she was more than just someone's wife. The way his touch had sent electricity shooting through her entire body.
The polo match began, but Anna barely saw the horses thundering across the field. She was hyperaware of Victor somewhere in the crowd behind her, of the way her skin still tingled, of the sudden, desperate hunger for something she couldn't even name.
Alexander's hand found her knee, possessive and cold. "Pay attention," he murmured without looking at her. "People are watching."
People were always watching. That was the problem.
Anna forced herself to focus on the game, cheering at the appropriate moments, gasping when someone scored. But her eyes kept drifting back through the crowd, searching for golden hair and sea-glass eyes.
She found Victor standing against the rail, his attention seemingly focused on the match. But when their eyes met across the sea of designer hats and champagne glasses, Anna felt the world tilt on its axis.
Everything else—Alexander's cold hand on her knee, Patricia's endless chatter, the sound of hooves on grass—faded into background noise. There was only Victor, only the way he was looking at her like she was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.
Time seemed to suspend itself in the space between them. Anna forgot how to breathe, forgot where she was, forgot every rule she'd learned about being a proper wife.
All she could see were those green eyes, holding her captive across an impossible distance, making promises she didn't dare believe and threats she couldn't resist.