Selena sipped her champagne slowly, letting her gaze wander across the room before returning to Lucien. She allowed just the right amount of eye contact—long enough to intrigue, short enough to leave him wanting more. Every movement was deliberate: the tilt of her neck, the curve of her lips, the faint arch of her back as she adjusted her gown.
Lucien approached, drawn in by her poise, the subtle heat she radiated. "I don't believe we've met properly," he said, a polite smile masking his curiosity.
"Oh, we have," Selena whispered, leaning slightly toward him. The scent of her perfume teased his senses. "I just like to take my time with… introductions."
She let her hand brush his arm, light but intentional, a spark that seemed accidental. Her body language spoke volumes, a language Lucien didn't yet understand—but that Selena mastered effortlessly.
As they spoke, she mirrored his movements subtly, creating an unconscious connection. Every laugh, every tilt of her head, was a tool—an instrument to make him trust her, desire her, and underestimate her all at once.
"You have quite the presence," Lucien admitted, leaning closer. "Most people here don't… notice the details like you do."
Selena allowed herself a small, knowing smile, her eyes locking with his. "Details are everything," she murmured. "Especially the ones people don't want to see."
She let her shoulder brush against his, a lingering touch that seemed casual, yet charged with tension. Each subtle caress, each glance that lingered too long, was designed to disarm him, to make him crave more, and most importantly—to make him open doors for her ambitions without realizing he was doing it.
By the end of the evening, Lucien was intrigued, distracted, and eager to see her again—exactly as Selena had planned. Her body had done more than captivate—it had paved the first step toward her goal.
Selena sipped the last of her champagne, eyes glittering with triumph. The game had begun, and tonight, she had already won the first move
She returned to the room, her steps softer this time, her confidence sharper. Their earlier exchange still lingered between them like unspoken heat. Lucian stood near the tall window, staring out at the night as if it was easier than staring at her.
She didn't let him stay in that distance.
Her heels clicked once… twice… then silence as she stopped behind him.
He felt her before he heard her.
"Mr. Lucien…" she whispered, her voice smooth as warm wine.
Lucian turned his head slightly, enough to see her over his shoulder. She smiled, slow and dangerous, her fingers lightly tracing the back of his arm as she came to stand beside him.
"You left so suddenly," she said, her eyes drifting up to meet him. "I thought… maybe you were avoiding me."
His expression didn't move, but she saw the way his chest rose a little deeper.
Not immune.
Not even close.
She stepped in front of him, close enough for the heat of his body to brush hers.
Their earlier tension tightened again, stronger, sharper.
"Tell me something," she murmured, letting her fingers trail along the edge of his shirt. "Do I make you uncomfortable, Mr. Lucien?"
He didn't answer.
He didn't have to — the silence was loud with desire.
She lifted her chin, eyes shimmering with challenge.
"Then prove it," she said softly. "Dance with me."
He inhaled slowly, his gaze finally locking fully on hers. She felt his restraint, heavy and dangerous — the kind that could break if she pushed just an inch more.
So she did.
She slid her hand up his chest and around his neck, her lips brushing the edge of his jaw without touching.
"Or are you afraid you might enjoy it too much?"
Lucian's control shattered in that instant.
He caught her waist with one hand, pulling her flush against him, his other hand closing around her fingers.
"Careful," he whispered darkly. "You don't know what you're inviting."
She smirked, leaning into his hold.
"Then let me find out."
And he led her into the dance — slow, heated, every movement a silent confession they both felt coming long before this moment
The music shifted—low, pulsing, almost sinful.
Lucian guided her into the first step, but it wasn't gentle.
It was controlled… possessive… and hotter than she expected.
His hand pressed firmly against the small of her back, pulling her closer with every turn until there was almost no space left between their bodies.
Her breath hitched.
He noticed.
A slow, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he moved her across the floor. His touch was steady, but the tension underneath it was explosive—like he was fighting himself with every second.
"Too close for you?" he murmured.
She slid her hand up his shoulder, letting her fingers drift to the back of his neck, feeling the way he tensed under her touch.
"Not close enough," she whispered back.
Lucian's jaw tightened, eyes darkening. He spun her sharply, her back now pressed to his chest, his hand flattening against her stomach to pull her in. She felt the heat of him completely, dangerously, undeniably.
Her pulse raced.
His breathing deepened.
The room suddenly felt smaller, hotter, heavier.
He leaned down, his lips hovering just above the curve of her neck—close enough that she felt the warmth of his breath but not the touch she craved.
"You're playing a dangerous game," he whispered, voice rough. "And you're enjoying every second of it."
She turned her head slightly, her lips brushing the air near his cheek.
"Maybe I like danger… Mr. Lucien."
That slip—soft, teasing, wicked—made him lose the last thread of restraint. He spun her back to face him, one hand gripping her waist, the other lifting her chin to force her eyes to his.
Their bodies aligned, heat to heat, breath mingling.
The music pulsed.
So did he.
Their steps slowed… then stopped completely.
They weren't dancing anymore.
They were holding each other.
Breathing each other in.
Drowning in the tension neither dared to break.
Lucian's forehead almost touched hers, his voice nothing but a low growl.
"If I take one more step," he whispered, "I won't stop."
She smiled—soft, seductive, daring.
"Then don't."
Lucian's hand guided her across the floor, their bodies brushing in a rhythm far too intimate to be innocent. The music wrapped around them—slow, hot, electric.
Her fingers rested behind his neck.
His touch lingered too long at her waist.
One more step and the dance would stop being a dance.
Then—
"Excuse me…?"
Both froze.
Damian stood a few feet away, wearing a polite, slightly confused smile. He wasn't angry. He wasn't suspicious. He didn't even seem to notice how close she and Lucian had been.
He was simply… interrupting.
"Sorry to disturb," Damian said warmly, giving Lucian a respectful nod. "You must be Mr. Lucian, right? One of the honored guests for tonight's event?"
Lucian straightened slowly, letting his hand slip away from her with careful restraint.
"Yes," he said, voice low but composed. "Lucian Vale."
Damian extended his hand, friendly, welcoming, unaware of the heat that had almost ignited seconds ago.
"Damian," he introduced himself. "I haven't had the chance to greet all the important names tonight. Glad you decided to attend."
Lucian shook his hand with a steady, unreadable expression. Only she caught the small, controlled breath he took — the way he forced the tension away.
Damian smiled at her next, completely unaware of the flush on her cheeks or the spark in her eyes.
"I hope I didn't interrupt anything serious," he said casually. "You two looked like you were enjoying the music. I just wanted to introduce myself and welcome our guests properly."
She forced a soft smile.
"Of course. Just a dance."
"Good, good," Damian said, relaxed. "I'm glad my wife is making you feel included. If you need anything tonight, Mr. Lucian, don't hesitate to ask."
Lucian's gaze flicked toward her, a silent pulse of heat hidden behind his perfectly polite expression.
"Thank you," he replied.
Damian nodded and stepped back.
"Well, I'll leave you both to enjoy the evening."
He walked away without a second thought.
Lucian watched him go… then turned back to her, his eyes burning with everything Damian had completely missed.
The music still played.
The tension still throbbed.
And their almost-kiss still hung between them, unfinished