The man's fingers dug into my wrist hard enough to leave marks. I twisted, tugging, but he only tightened his grip with a smug grin plastered across his masked face.
I was about to snap at him when a voice, low and commanding, sliced through the music.
"Let her go."
The sound was like steel wrapped in velvet—calm but with an authority that couldn't be ignored. Heads turned toward us, curious whispers flitting through the ballroom.
I froze. My breath caught in my throat before I even looked up, because I already knew that voice.
When I did, my knees nearly buckled.
He stood tall, broad-shouldered in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, the black mask doing nothing to dim the intensity of those steel-gray eyes. Salt and pepper hair brushed his temples, his jawline sharp enough to shame men half his age. His presence filled the space like gravity itself.
Dominic Sterling.
Emily's father. The host of this gala. A man untouchable in every way.
And the man I had spent half my teenage years secretly dreaming about.
---
The drunk clinging to my wrist scoffed, oblivious. "What the hell's your problem?" He puffed his chest like a cheap suit could make him powerful.
Dominic didn't move. He didn't need to. His arms folded over his chest, his expression steady and cold. "You've had your fun. Now walk away before I make you regret it."
The man bristled. "Listen, old man—"
"Stop." My voice cut through, sharper than I intended. I yanked my wrist free while the fool's attention flickered between us. I stepped forward, spine stiff, mask glinting in the chandelier's light. "Leave. Now."
For a heartbeat, his face twisted with frustration. Then, muttering something under his breath, he stormed off into the crowd, swallowed by sequins and shadows.
Relief washed over me like cool water. My heart still thudded against my ribs, but at least he was gone.
---
"Are you alright?"
His voice again. But this time softer, directed at me alone.
I turned my face up to him, and the world seemed to tilt. Those gray eyes locked on me, sharp and unyielding, yet not unkind. My pulse stuttered. I couldn't look away even if I wanted to.
God, he was even more devastating up close. The years had added to him instead of taking away—faint lines at his temples, a hint of weariness in his eyes, a jaw dusted with stubble that made him look less like a doctor and more like temptation made flesh.
And he didn't recognize me.
---
I had eaten at his table. Slept in his daughter's room during high school sleepovers. I had passed him in hallways, polite smiles exchanged while my heart raced, while my stomach fluttered with things I never admitted to anyone.
And now… here I was. A woman, not a girl. Masked. Changed. Unfamiliar.
He didn't know me. But I knew him.
"Yes," I whispered, clutching the edge of my clutch tighter. "I'm fine."
It wasn't true. My wrist ached faintly where the man had held me, but that wasn't what rattled me. It was Dominic. His nearness. The scent of him—clean, sharp, with a hint of cedar and something purely masculine—wrapped around me, making my head swim.
And the fact that he didn't know who I was? That he looked at me like I was a stranger? That was the most dangerous part of all.
---
He raised a hand, flagging down a server. With practiced ease, he plucked a chilled water bottle from the tray, cracked the cap, and held it out to me.
"Drink," he said simply.
I hesitated, then took it, my fingers brushing his. Heat shot up my arm at the contact. I hated how easily my body betrayed me.
"Thank you," I murmured.
He inclined his head. That was all. But he didn't walk away. He stayed, watching me with a gaze that made my knees threaten mutiny.
---
My thoughts spun. I had a choice.
I could tell him who I was. I could laugh, pull off the mask, and say, It's me, Clara. Your daughter's best friend. The girl who used to sit at your dinner table, the one you never looked twice at.
Or… I could let him believe I was someone else.
Someone he was allowed to look at the way he was looking at me now.
My heart pounded. I knew the right choice, the wise one. But wisdom had never burned like this before.
Nothing wrong with a little fun, I told myself, though even in my head the words sounded like a lie.
---
"Do you often save damsels in distress at your own parties?" I asked lightly, trying to mask the shake in my voice.
His lips twitched—almost a smile. "Only when they make it interesting."
Dangerous. That's what he was. And I was stepping willingly into the fire.