Chapter Three: Trapped in His Game
714 Words
The music swelled around them, but Alina barely heard it over the pounding of her heart.
Dancing with Nicholas Vaughn felt like standing at the edge of a cliff—dangerous, exhilarating, and completely reckless. His hand was firm against the small of her back, holding her closer than was necessary. Every movement, every shift of his body against hers, sent ripples of heat through her.
She needed to get away.
Alina had spent years pulling herself out of his world, out of his gravity, and now, within minutes, she was falling back into it.
She tried to pull away, but Nicholas tightened his grip, his voice smooth and commanding. “Leaving so soon?”
Her jaw tightened. “This is a dance, Nicholas, not a contract.”
He smirked. “You never did know the difference between the two.”
That did it.
Alina yanked her hand from his and stepped back, ignoring the curious stares from the guests around them. She knew how this looked. She knew what they were thinking.
The woman who had walked away from him was back.
And Nicholas Vaughn was never the kind of man to let go easily.
Alina turned on her heel, weaving through the crowd, her breath uneven as she made her way toward the exit.
But she had barely taken three steps before a voice stopped her.
“Running again, Alina?”
She froze.
Slowly, she turned around.
Nicholas stood just a few feet away, his expression unreadable, but his eyes? His eyes told her everything.
She took a shaky breath. “I don’t know what you think is happening here, but I’m not doing this with you.”
His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “You already are.”
God, he was infuriating.
Alina clenched her fists. “Not everything is a game, Nicholas.”
He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “Then why does it feel like you’re losing?”
She inhaled sharply, refusing to let him get to her. She wasn’t the same girl who had fallen for his charm years ago. She wasn’t naïve. She knew what he was.
A man who took. A man who owned.
And she refused to be owned again.
She turned away, this time making it to the entrance, but just as she stepped outside, a strong hand caught her wrist.
Nicholas.
He had followed her.
Her pulse thundered as he pulled her toward a quieter corner of the balcony, away from prying eyes. The city lights stretched behind him, casting sharp shadows over his chiseled features.
Alina yanked her arm free. “You don’t get to do this.”
His expression didn’t change. “Do what?”
“Drag me out here. Pretend like you still have a say in my life.”
Nicholas took a slow step closer, and even though she hated herself for it, her body reacted before her mind could stop it. The heat, the pull—everything about him was designed to make her weak.
“I never stopped having a say in your life,” he murmured. “You just stopped listening.”
Alina’s breath caught.
She should have slapped him. She should have walked away.
Instead, she whispered, “Why are you doing this?”
For the first time, something flickered in his eyes. Something dark. Something real.
“Because you left,” he said, his voice softer now. “And I never got to ask you why.”
Alina’s chest tightened.
They had never talked about it. The night she left, she had disappeared without a word, without an explanation. Because explanations meant reopening wounds, and some wounds were never meant to heal.
She shook her head, stepping back. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Nicholas caught her wrist again, gentler this time. “It does to me.”
Alina swallowed hard. She couldn’t do this. Not here. Not with him looking at her like that.
Like she still belonged to him.
She forced herself to pull away. “I have to go.”
Nicholas didn’t stop her this time. He simply watched, his gaze unreadable, as she turned and walked away.
But even as she disappeared into the city, she knew the truth.
This wasn’t over.
It had never been over.
- Writer
