Chapter 12: A Dance With Fire
665 Words
Kaelith shouldn’t be here.
Not like this.
Not in this moment where the air between them felt heavy, thick with something she couldn’t name.
Yet, she stood there—face-to-face with Lysander Castillo, in the middle of a grand ballroom filled with powerful people, drowning in the weight of expectations.
A charity gala. A spectacle of wealth and influence.
Another stage where they were meant to play their roles.
Lysander had barely looked at her all evening, save for the brief introduction to the press, where his hand rested lightly at her waist, his fingers brushing against the silk of her dress just enough to make her stomach clench.
But now, there was no audience. No flashing cameras.
Just him. Just her.
And the soft, haunting melody of a waltz pulling them together.
Kaelith swallowed hard. "I don’t dance."
Lysander arched a brow, his lips curling slightly. "You do tonight."
She hesitated. "Lysander—"
"Trust me."
Two words. Simple, quiet. Yet, they sent a shiver down her spine.
She should pull away.
She should remind him that they were nothing more than a contract. That this was all a performance.
But when his hand slid against hers, firm yet gentle, and he pulled her onto the dance floor, her body betrayed her.
She let him lead.
And suddenly, she wasn’t Kaelith Ramirez, the girl who fought against her fate.
She was something else.
Something softer, something reckless.
She was the woman caught in the gravity of a man who should have been untouchable.
---
The music swelled around them, drowning out the world.
Kaelith tried to focus on the steps, on the rhythm.
But Lysander was too close.
Too warm.
Too much.
Her pulse pounded in her throat as he guided her across the polished floor, his grip steady, his movements effortless.
"You’re tense," he murmured, his lips barely moving.
She forced a breath. "Because this is ridiculous."
His gaze darkened, amusement flickering beneath the surface. "Is it?"
"Yes."
She hated how breathless she sounded.
Lysander tilted his head slightly, watching her like he was seeing something new. Something intriguing.
"Do you always fight this hard?" he asked.
Kaelith frowned. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
He didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he dipped her back slightly, just enough to steal her breath.
Then, as he pulled her upright again, his voice dropped lower.
"You act like you hate this," he said. "Like you hate me."
Kaelith stiffened. "Because I do."
His smirk was slow, infuriating. "Liar."
Her fingers curled against his shoulder, resisting the urge to dig her nails into his skin.
"You think you know me, Lysander?" she whispered.
He leaned in, his breath brushing against her cheek.
"I think you want to hate me," he said softly. "But you don’t."
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Damn him.
Damn him for seeing through her so easily.
But before she could respond, before she could throw another sharp retort his way—he spun her.
The world blurred, her dress fanning out around her.
And when she came back into his arms, breathless, her body flush against his—she forgot how to fight.
Just for a second.
Just long enough to wonder how much of this was still pretend.
---
When the dance ended, she pulled away.
Too fast.
Too desperate.
She needed distance.
Needed air.
But before she could turn, before she could flee from the weight of whatever had just happened—Lysander caught her wrist.
Her breath hitched.
Slowly, she met his gaze.
His expression was unreadable. But his grip—warm, firm—told her more than words ever could.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then, finally, he let her go.
And just like that, the spell was broken.
Kaelith turned without a word and walked away.
Because if she stayed any longer, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop herself from falling.
And falling for Lysander Castillo?
Would be a fire she might not survive.
- Writer
