Control me.

Chapter 12 - Irina.

The music around me is deafening, the flashes from the photographers still blinding my eyes, and yet the entire room seems to freeze the moment Paul leads me toward Nick Martinez's table. I've heard his name many times. Everyone talks about him as if he's some kind of god of business, a man who turns everything he touches into gold.

But to me... something about him reeks of arrogance.

He stands there, relaxed, his drink untouched, smoking his cigar as if he owns the place. His bodyguards block our path as if we're approaching a throne, and that alone irritates me. He's not a king. Just a man who has learned how to step on others to get where he is.

A small, arrogant wave of his hand is enough for them to let us pass.

Then his gaze locks onto me.

My legs.

My chest.

He doesn't even bother hiding the shameless way he looks at me. I feel the blood rush to my face — not from embarrassment, but from anger.

Paul, as always, is excited. Like a child who just met his hero. He extends his hand, his voice full of enthusiasm.

"Mr. Martinez, it's an honor."

I stay a little behind, observing. Nick looks at him with that cold, half-smiling expression. As if he already knows Paul would do anything just to stand beside him.

Then it's my turn.

Paul turns toward me, pride filling his voice.

"Let me introduce you to Irina, my fiancée."

The word echoes in the air like a bell.

Nick turns fully toward me. He extends his hand slowly, his gaze now locked on my eyes. There isn't even a trace of respect or politeness there. It feels like a silent challenge.

Let's see which one of us will break first.

I shake his hand with a smile I know must look fake. I'm not about to give him the satisfaction of seeing that he affects me.

But inside... I can't deny that something about him unsettles me.

He's arrogant. Completely full of himself — that's obvious. But his eyes have that dark depth that makes them impossible to forget, no matter how much you want to.

I don't like him.

I don't want him near me.

But I already know this won't be the last time I see that look.

His hand slowly pulls away from mine, and that's when I notice his appearance more carefully for the first time.

Nick Martinez isn't just handsome.

He's the kind of man whose presence fills the room without him needing to say a single word.

Tall — at least six foot five — with broad shoulders and a body that clearly doesn't come only from luxury but also from hard training. His black suit is tailored perfectly to him, expensive fabric subtly shining under the club lights, and his white shirt is open just enough to reveal the sculpted lines of his chest.

A thin chain hangs around his neck, almost hidden, yet it gives him a slightly wilder edge. A few tattoos are faintly visible.

His face is angular, with a jaw sharp as a blade and cheekbones that look carved from marble. His skin carries a light sun-kissed tone, like a man who moves between glass offices and villas with swimming pools.

His hair — dark brown, almost black — is brushed back in a way that looks carefully styled yet effortlessly masculine.

And then his eyes.

Two dark lakes. Though the color is exactly the same as mine — blue-green.

Hard. With a glimmer I can't quite read.

It isn't the gaze of a simple businessman. There's something... dangerous about it. As if he knows more than he shows. As if he could turn your world upside down simply because he decided to.

A constant half-smile plays on his lips.

Not the warm kind that makes you feel comfortable. His is cold, almost mocking, like he knows every secret you're trying to hide and enjoys the fact that he has already figured you out.

I can't deny it — he's charming.

The most dangerous kind of charm: the kind that draws you in while scaring you at the same time.

Nick is the kind of man every woman would want to try at least once... even if she gets burned.

And I... don't want to admit it, but I already know I'm thinking about him more than I should.

We sit side by side at the bar, glasses in front of us filled with the cocktail that was just served. Paul talks nonstop about the interview, about how excited he is, about how Nick seemed to pay attention to him.

As I listen, I smile faintly and let my fingers play absentmindedly with my glass.

"You know," I say slowly, glancing at him while trying to hide my slight awkwardness, "there's something I want you to understand. We don't have to go back there immediately. The night is still young. We could sit here and talk for a while."

Paul looks at me, a little confused but intrigued.

"You mean...?"

"Yes, just delay a bit," I reply with light irony. "I'm not in a hurry to return to Mr. Martinez and his... company."

Every now and then I glance toward him without looking directly, letting only my curiosity show.

Paul chuckles softly, trying to understand my game.

"Alright, if that's what you want. We can stay a little longer."

And as we delay, I enjoy the feeling of a small victory.

Paul talks, laughs, full of excitement, while I simply smile faintly and let time pass.

Every minute that passes keeps him away from Nick, and I feel a strange satisfaction in the sense of control I have right now.

I look around, watching the club lights reflect on the polished marble, the photographers' flashes exploding around the room, and I feel the adrenaline of the night wrapping around me.

But most of all, I keep Paul's attention on me for just a little longer — for as long as I can delay the moment we return to Martinez.