The Miami sunset bled coral and gold across the horizon, its light glinting off the sleek deck of the Estrella del Mar, a yacht that screamed wealth and ambition. Sofia Alvarez adjusted a cascade of white orchids in a crystal vase, her fingers steady despite the frenetic energy around her. At thirty-four, she'd clawed her way to the top of Miami's event-planning scene, and tonight's party for Torres Enterprises was her biggest gig yet. Failure wasn't an option—not after the hell of her divorce two years ago, when Diego's controlling grip had nearly broken her. She smoothed her emerald-green dress, the silk hugging her curves, and scanned the deck. The ocean breeze carried salt and anticipation, cooling the late summer heat.
"Sofia, the caterer's ten minutes out!" Carla, her assistant, darted through a cluster of waiters, her voice tight with panic.
"Tell them five, or they're done," Sofia replied, her tone calm but edged with steel. She'd rebuilt her life on precision and grit, and no late delivery would unravel her. Guests would arrive soon—Miami's elite, dripping in designer labels—and every detail, from the chilled Dom Pérignon to the salsa band tuning up, had to be flawless. Her reputation, her independence, depended on it.
A ripple of murmurs drew her gaze to the gangway. Rafael Torres stepped aboard, and Sofia's breath caught. She'd seen his face in Forbes—billionaire CEO, notorious playboy—but in person, he was a force. His tailored black suit accentuated broad shoulders, and his dark hair caught the fading light. His hazel eyes locked onto hers across the deck, and a slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. Heat flushed her skin, unbidden, and she cursed herself for reacting. She wasn't the woman who swooned anymore. Diego had killed that version of her.
"Ms. Alvarez," Rafael said, his voice a low rumble with a faint Spanish accent as he approached, a glass of whiskey in hand. "This is extraordinary."
"It's my job," Sofia replied, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. Up close, he was even more striking—high cheekbones, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, and a scent of sandalwood and sea salt that made her pulse skip. "I'm glad it meets your standards, Mr. Torres."
"Rafael," he corrected, stepping closer. The space between them shrank, charged with something electric. "And I suspect you exceed everyone's standards."
Her lips twitched, but she held his stare. "Flattery doesn't work on me."
His laugh was low, intimate, like a secret shared just with her. "Good. I prefer a challenge."
Sofia turned away, feigning interest in a passing waiter, but her body hummed with awareness. She hadn't felt this in years—not since Diego's lies and manipulation shattered her trust. Rafael was trouble, the kind that could unravel the walls she'd built around her heart. But as she glanced back, catching his eyes still on her, she wondered if trouble might be exactly what she needed to feel alive again.
The party surged to life. Guests in glittering gowns and crisp suits mingled, their laughter blending with the band's sultry rhythm. Sofia moved through the crowd, checking details—a floral arrangement slightly off-center, a server's tie askew. Her phone buzzed with updates from Carla, but Rafael's presence lingered, a pull she couldn't shake. He circulated among the guests, his charisma drawing smiles and nods, yet his gaze found her again and again, like a predator tracking prey. Except she didn't feel hunted—she felt seen.
"Sofia!" Mia, her best friend and the event's chef, appeared at her side, her curly hair pinned up, apron swapped for a sleek red dress. "You're killing it, as always. But why do you look like you're about to punch someone or kiss them?"
Sofia snorted, sipping a glass of champagne she'd grabbed for appearances. "Neither. Just focused."
Mia's eyes narrowed, following Sofia's glance toward Rafael. "Oh, girl. That's Rafael Torres. Billionaire bad boy. You're in deep."
"I'm not in anything," Sofia said, but her voice lacked conviction. Mia grinned, unconvinced, and slipped back to the kitchen.
Sofia's focus returned to the event, but Rafael was relentless, catching her by the bar as she checked the drink stock. "Running away already?" he teased, leaning against the counter. His sleeve brushed her arm, sending a jolt through her.
"Working," she corrected, stepping back to reclaim her space. "Some of us don't get to play host all night."
"Then let me help." He reached past her, adjusting a bottle with a playful smirk. "See? I'm useful."
She arched a brow. "You're in my way."
"Am I?" His voice dropped, eyes darkening. "Or are you just afraid to get close?"
Her breath hitched. He was too close now, his warmth radiating through the thin space between them. She could push him away, shut this down. Diego had taught her to guard her heart, to trust no one. But her body betrayed her, leaning fractionally closer. "Careful, Rafael," she murmured, her voice steady despite the fire in her veins. "Some fires burn too hot to handle."
"I'm not afraid of a little heat," he said, his fingers grazing her wrist, a touch so light it was maddening. His eyes held hers, promising more than words could convey.
The band struck up a new song, and the crowd surged, pulling Sofia back to her duties. She slipped away, her heart pounding, but Rafael's gaze followed her, a vow of pursuit. As she checked the lighting, her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: Watch Torres. He's not what he seems. The words chilled her, a whisper of betrayal in the glittering night. She glanced at Rafael, laughing with a guest, his charm effortless. What secrets did he hide? And why did her heart race at the thought of uncovering them?
Sofia squared her shoulders, her independence a shield. She'd survived Diego's control, rebuilt her life from ashes. No man, not even Rafael Torres, would derail her. Yet as the Miami stars emerged, twinkling above the yacht's deck, she couldn't deny the spark he'd ignited—a dangerous, forbidden pull that could either break her or set her free.