The gala sparkled around them, but for Kierra, every sound seemed muted—the string quartet, the laughter of women in jewels, the murmur of powerful men discussing deals worth more than her lifetime savings. None of it touched her. Not when Logan Hayes was standing so close, his presence a storm contained in a tailored suit.
"Careful," Logan murmured, his lips angled just enough that no one else could see them move. "You're drawing attention."
Kierra forced herself to glance away, though her pulse still raced from the brief brush of his hand against hers. "You're the one staring," she whispered back.
He almost smiled, the kind of curve that never reached his eyes. "And you're the one who came, despite knowing better."
She should have snapped at him, should have reminded him that his wife was only a few feet away, speaking with a cluster of dignitaries near the champagne tower. Instead, Kierra's breath tangled in her chest, because he was right. She had come. She had walked willingly into his world, even though every instinct screamed at her to run.
"Why?" she asked softly, finally daring to meet his eyes. "Why did you want me here?"
Logan's gaze was sharp, unreadable. "Because I couldn't stand the thought of you being anywhere else."
The words hit her harder than they should have. Dangerous. Seductive. Wrong.
Before she could respond, a voice cut through the air.
"Logan."
They both turned. Veronica stood at his side, flawless as ever, her smile polished to perfection. But her eyes—blue, cold, assessing—lingered on Kierra a second too long.
"Introduce me," Veronica said smoothly, though her tone left no room for refusal.
Logan's pause was slight, almost imperceptible, but Kierra felt it in her bones. His hand twitched as though he wanted to reach for her, then stilled.
"This is Kierra Jade," he said evenly. "She works with one of the catering vendors."
Veronica's smile sharpened, though it never faltered. "How lovely." Her gaze slid over Kierra's dress, elegant yet modest compared to the glittering gowns around them. "Logan has always admired people who… work hard."
The words weren't cruel, but the undertone was unmistakable. Kierra felt the sting beneath the veneer, heat rising to her cheeks. She wanted to vanish, to sink into the marble floor.
But Logan's presence beside her kept her standing tall, even as her heart thudded painfully in her chest.
"It was nice to meet you," Veronica finished, her attention already shifting back to her circle of polished companions. She looped her arm through Logan's, pulling him subtly away.
Kierra exhaled, her body trembling. She should leave now. Slip out unnoticed before she drowned in this glittering cage. But when she glanced toward the crowd, Logan was looking back at her. His wife on his arm, his mask firmly in place, but his eyes—his eyes burned with something raw and unguarded.
The night stretched on. Kierra busied herself near the dessert table, pretending to adjust trays while guests grazed on macarons and champagne-soaked strawberries. But her attention kept drifting, seeking him out across the room.
And every time, without fail, she caught him watching her. A thousand people in the ballroom, but his gaze never seemed to waver.
It was madness. A secret conversation carried only in glances, in the brush of heat across her skin whenever his eyes found hers.
When the orchestra struck a slow waltz, couples glided onto the floor. Veronica led Logan into the dance, her movements graceful, practiced. They looked perfect together—the tycoon and his elegant wife, spinning beneath the chandeliers as if they were carved from the same flawless mold.
But perfection was a lie. Kierra saw it in the tension of Logan's jaw, in the slight distance between his hand and Veronica's waist. He was present, but not there. Not really.
And when his gaze flicked over Veronica's shoulder, locking with Kierra's once again, her breath caught. The dance was hers too—silent, forbidden, carved out of stolen glances across marble and silk.
Later, when the music softened and the ballroom began to thin, Logan found her again. This time in the shadow of a side corridor, away from the chandeliers and cameras.
"You shouldn't have spoken to her," Kierra said, her voice low, sharp with nerves. "She knows. She—"
"She knows nothing," Logan cut in, his tone clipped. Then, softer: "Because I won't allow her to."
Kierra shook her head, the emerald silk of her dress brushing her knees as she stepped back. "This is insane. I don't belong here. You have a wife. A life. This—"
His hand caught her wrist, firm but not cruel, just enough to halt her retreat. The same way he had in the café that first night.
"You belong," he said, his voice a low promise. "More than you think."
The heat of his grip sent shivers through her, unraveling her defenses thread by thread. Her eyes darted toward the ballroom, half-expecting Veronica to appear at any second.
"This will destroy me," she whispered.
"It will destroy us both," Logan admitted, his gray eyes burning into hers. "But I'd rather burn than turn away now."
The air between them was thick, the pull undeniable. His face was inches from hers, the world around them reduced to shadows and the pounding of her heart.
Kierra's lips parted, every instinct caught between fleeing and surrendering. And for a heartbeat, she thought he might kiss her, right there in the dark of the corridor, consequences be damned.
But then a burst of laughter echoed from the ballroom, shattering the moment. Logan's grip loosened, though his eyes remained locked on hers.
"Not here," he said, his voice rough. "Not tonight."
Kierra nodded, her chest tight, her whole body trembling from the restraint.
As he turned back toward the ballroom, she pressed her palm against the wall to steady herself. Her heart ached with a truth she couldn't deny anymore.
This wasn't just temptation.
This was obsession.
And she knew, with terrifying certainty, that she was already too far gone.