The ballroom glimmered like a golden cage. Crystal chandeliers bathed the room in soft light, while laughter and clinking glasses rose above the hum of a string quartet.
Adrian adjusted the stiff collar of his luxirous tuxedo. He hated these kinds of gatherings. The wealthy men strutted like peacocks, their wives glittered with jewels, and the air was so thick with perfume, fake love and arrogance it almost choked him.
But Cole Industries was growing, and if he wanted to familiarize with other important people for fiture purpose, he needed to be here—smiling, nodding, playing their game because the more people he controls, the better for his plans.
"Relax your jaw before it cracks," a familiar voice teased beside him.
Adrian glanced sideways to see Marcus Hale, his childhood friend, grinning as he sipped champagne. Marcus was a head shorter, broad-shouldered, with sandy hair always slightly messy, as though life itself had no right to keep him neat. His blue eyes sparkled with mischief.
"You dragged me here," Adrian muttered.
Marcus raised a brow. "I dragged you? You begged me to come because you knew you'd chase everyone away with your scowl and tgen turn to a forest with no trees without my charm."
Adrian tried not to smile. "Your charm got us kicked out of a client's office last month."
"That man's toupee was begging to be mentioned," Marcus shot back, straight-faced. "I was doing the world a service."
Adrian chuckled despite himself, and a few nearby guests turned to look, surprised that the usually stone-faced CEO could laugh.
And then—he saw her.
Across the ballroom, descending the marble staircase as though it had been built just for her, was a woman in a gown the color of deep emerald. The fabric clung to her curves like liquid silk, the slit revealing just enough of her long, toned leg to make men choke on their wine.
Her hair was a cascade of dark waves, her lips painted the kind of red that belonged in forbidden stories. But it was her eyes—sharp, glittering, almost predatory—that rooted Adrian in place.
Marcus followed his gaze and let out a low whistle. "Well. If you're not going to say hello, I volunteer as tribute."
Adrian shot him a look. "You'd ruin her in ten minutes."
"Five, if she likes bad jokes," Marcus said cheerfully.
Adrian shook his head, but his chest tightened as the woman's gaze swept the room—and landed on him.
For a heartbeat, it felt like the world hushed. Her lips curved in a slow, deliberate smile before she descended the last steps and disappeared into the crowd.
"Don't stare too hard," Marcus murmured. "You'll set her on fire."
Adrian adjusted his cufflinks to mask his unease. He was not a man who got nervous around women. But this one… this one looked at him as though she already knew secrets he hadn't told anyone.
Later, as the evening wound on, Adrian found himself at the refreshment table, refilling his glass of water (he had long since stopped trusting champagne to keep his head clear).
"Water?" a voice purred beside him. "At a gala? How… disciplined."
Adrian turned.
She stood there, emerald gown shimmering under the chandelier. Up close, her beauty was even more disarming. Her skin glowed like porcelain, her lashes long and dark, and her eyes—green with flecks of gold—were studying him like a puzzle she intended to solve.
"I don't like losing control," Adrian said evenly.
Her lips curved. "Then you and I are alike."
He raised a brow. "Are we?"
"I'm Melissa." She extended her hand, the gesture poised, practiced.
"Adrian," he replied, taking it. Her skin was cool, soft, but the grip—firm.
Melissa tilted her head. "Adrian Cole, of Cole Industries. The self-made man with no patience for small talk."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "You seem to know a lot about me."
"I make it a point to study people worth knowing." Her smile was dazzling, but her eyes… her eyes were measuring him, testing him.
For the first time in a long while, Adrian felt like prey instead of predator.
Across the room, Marcus watched with mock horror, whispering to himself. "Oh no, he's smiling. This is it. We're doomed. She's going to eat him alive."
When a waiter passed, Marcus snagged a plate of hors d'oeuvres and stuffed three at once into his mouth, muttering through crumbs, "Better enjoy the food before Adrian's funeral."
Melissa leaned closer to Adrian, her perfume faint but intoxicating. "Tell me something no one else here knows about you."
Adrian studied her. This was dangerous ground. He didn't trust easily, not anymore. But something about the challenge in her voice…
He smirked slightly. "I don't dance."
Melissa arched a brow. "That's tragic."
"Not really."
"Yes, really," she countered, stepping closer, lowering her voice just enough to stir heat at his collar. "Because now I'm going to make you."
Before he could protest, she took his hand and pulled him toward the dance floor.
Adrian's first instinct was to resist. But her grip was steady, her smile daring. And for reasons he couldn't explain, he let himself follow.
As the music swelled, Melissa pressed close, her body moving with effortless grace. Adrian's jaw tightened as he tried to keep up, his movements stiff.
"You weren't lying," she teased softly. "You really don't dance."
"Yet here I am," he muttered, his pulse racing.
She laughed—a low, melodic sound that made heads turn. And for the first time in years, Adrian felt his defenses falter, just slightly.
At the edge of the floor, Clara Cole stood silently, her shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She had come tonight only to support her son, even though she is dressed so beautifully that no one recognized her when she entered but couldn't look away from her beauty even when she's already in her late 40's. Her gaze fixed on the emerald-clad woman in her son's arms.
Clara's breath caught.
Because she knew masks when she saw them.
And Melissa's smile was too polished, too sharp, to be real.