The gala was a blur of sequins and champagne. Another night, another meaningless celebration of power masquerading as charity. Seraphina wore midnight silk tonight, cut low enough to make her mother proud, high enough to keep her father's reputation intact. Her family's crest glittered at her throat like a leash.
She had learned to play her part perfectly—smile when spoken to, laugh at the right moments, glide instead of walk. And still, she felt caged.
Because he was here.
She felt Alessandro's presence before she saw him. The shift in the room, the sudden hush in whispers, the way heads turned as if gravity bent in his direction. He was impossible to ignore.
Her father shook hands with a politician. Her mother chatted with some duchess. Seraphina stood by the champagne fountain, nursing her glass, silently counting the seconds until she could leave.
Then, the air behind her stirred.
"Running out of patience already, princess?"
Her spine stiffened. She turned slowly, meeting dark eyes that gleamed like sin under chandeliers. Alessandro Valenti—tailored black suit, shirt open at the collar, a diamond pin gleaming at his lapel. Every inch the untouchable heir.
"I wasn't aware patience was part of the engagement contract," she said coolly.
"Neither was free will," he murmured.
Her jaw tightened. "Why are you here?"
He smirked. "Why wouldn't I be? These are my people too."
"These," she hissed, "are my people."
He stepped closer, his presence drowning the air between them. "Correction. Now they're ours."
Before she could retort, the orchestra swelled. A slow, deliberate waltz filled the air. Alessandro extended his hand.
"No," she said instantly.
"Yes," he countered.
"I'm not dancing with you."
"You already are." His gaze pinned her, heavy, commanding. "The moment the music started, it was inevitable."
Every instinct screamed to refuse. But dozens of eyes already tracked them. Whispers already stirred, expectant. If she refused, she'd look weak.
Damn him.
She set her glass down and placed her hand in his. His grip was warm, firm, unyielding.
The crowd parted. The dance floor opened like a stage. And then they were moving.
---
The Waltz
His hand pressed to her waist, her palm against his shoulder. The silk of her gown whispered with each step. Chandeliers sparkled above them, and a hundred eyes followed their every move.
"You look furious," he said, tone lazy.
"I am."
"Good. I like you angry."
She smiled sweetly for the crowd, teeth clenched. "Careful, Valenti. You'll like me better when I'm cutting your throat."
His lips brushed close to her ear. "You can try. I'll still make you mine before the blade touches skin."
She pulled back enough to meet his eyes. "You really believe the world bends to you?"
"It already does." He spun her, pulling her back against him, their bodies flush. His breath ghosted her neck. "And soon, you will too."
Heat licked under her skin, infuriatingly unwelcome. She hated the way his touch made her pulse stutter, the way her body betrayed her rage.
"You're delusional," she whispered.
"Maybe." His smirk curved, dangerous. "But you're still in my arms."
Applause rippled around them as the waltz carried on. But it wasn't music she heard—it was her own heartbeat, traitorous and wild.
---
Victor Appears
When the song ended, Alessandro didn't let her go. His hand lingered on her waist, his eyes daring her to defy him.
Then another voice cut through.
"Well, isn't this charming."
Victor Romano stood at the edge of the dance floor, glass in hand, smirk carved to perfection. "Valenti, you're getting sloppy. I thought you only touched what you could keep."
Alessandro's arm tightened around her, subtle but possessive. "And I will keep her."
Victor's gaze slid over Seraphina, slow and deliberate. "Funny. I thought she looked more like someone who wanted to escape."
Seraphina seized the opening. She stepped out of Alessandro's hold, her smile sharp as glass. "You're both wrong. I don't belong to either of you."
The crowd buzzed, whispers louder now. A scandal blooming in real time.
Victor's smirk widened, clearly amused. Alessandro's jaw tightened, his eyes burning.
Seraphina lifted her chin, emerald fire in her eyes. "I'm not your game piece. Either of you."
And with that, she walked off the floor, head high, gown trailing like a weapon behind her.
---
Aftermath
She made it as far as the powder room before Alessandro found her.
The door slammed shut, the lock clicked, and suddenly it was just the two of them in the mirrored space.
Her reflection glared back at her in the glass, cheeks flushed, chest heaving.
"You think you can walk away from me?" His voice was low, dangerous, the kind of quiet that threatened storms.
She turned, fire sparking in her veins. "I don't think. I know."
He closed the distance in two strides, crowding her against the counter, palms braced on either side of her. His reflection caged her too, their images locked in the mirror.
"Say it again," he murmured, eyes burning.
Her pulse spiked. She hated it. She hated him. And yet—her voice didn't come out steady. "I. Don't. Belong. To you."
His mouth curved, inches from hers. "Then why do you sound like you're trying to convince yourself?"
Her throat tightened, fury warring with something hotter, darker. She pushed against his chest, forcing him back. "Stay out of my head, Valenti."
His smirk lingered as he stepped away, slow, deliberate. "Too late, princess. I'm already there."
And then he
was gone, the door swinging open behind him, leaving her alone with her reflection—and the echo of her own traitorous pulse.