Throughout the evening, their verbal duels became a game.
"You still walking like a startled cat?" he teased when she shifted weight from one heel to the other.
"I could ask the same of you, Mr. Bentley," she shot back, eyes flashing. "Always acting like the world owes you obedience."
"Obedience isn't the word I'd use," he countered, stepping closer, so close that the faint brush of his coat against her arm sent shivers down her spine. "Control… fascination… attention. Those are more accurate."
Ivie stiffened. Her heart thundered, fists clenching. How could someone so arrogant, so infuriating, make her toes curl in heels she hated?
He noticed, of course. Femi da Silva noticed everything. A twitch of her lips, the small flex of her ankle, the way her eyes sparkled when she challenged him—they were like sparks in dry grass. He leaned in closer, whispering just loud enough for her to hear over the music:
"Careful, Ivie. You're playing with fire, and I burn hot."
She stared at him, chest heaving. "I don't play games with dangerous men," she spat, though a small, guilty thrill ran down her spine.
Later, as the night wore on, other women began to approach him—laughter spilling over their words, perfumed fingers brushing his arm. Ivie felt her stomach twist. Heat, anger, something she hadn't allowed herself to name—jealousy.
She wanted to tell him to stop. She wanted to shove these women away. But the truth she refused to admit whispered that she wanted him to notice her… alone.
Femi, always aware, noticed too. Every glance, every small flinch of her body, every subtle reaction became a game in his mind. He thrived on her reaction, on her tension, her fire, and the way she refused to give him anything freely. It was intoxicating.
When she finally excused herself to the balcony, she exhaled sharply, hands gripping the cool marble railing. The city stretched out before her: endless lights, endless noise, endless possibilities. And yet, Femi da Silva occupied her mind more completely than the streets below.
A shadow fell over her.
"You look tense," he said, stepping onto the balcony with that casual arrogance that made her want to roll her eyes and shiver simultaneously.
"I… I'm fine," she muttered.
"Your pulse tells me otherwise," he said, eyes darkening. "You've been walking around like you're on a knife's edge all night."
She laughed bitterly. "Maybe I've been walking around like that because of you."
"And yet you came," he murmured, stepping closer. "Even knowing me, you came."
She wanted to deny it. She wanted to run. She wanted to scream. But the truth… the truth was far more dangerous.