Chapter 3 — The Gala
753 Words
The invitation arrived that afternoon.
Heavy cream paper, her name written in elegant cursive.
“You will accompany me tonight. 7:30. Black attire. — D.M.”
No question mark. No “please.”
Just a command — cold, precise, and undeniably Dante.
Selena stared at the note for a long time, her heartbeat quickening. She wasn’t sure what unsettled her more — the arrogance of his tone or the thrill that ran through her when she read it.
By seven o’clock, she stood in front of her mirror, barely recognizing herself.
The black dress hugged her body like a secret, its satin straps glinting softly in the light. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, a few rebellious strands framing her face.
She looked powerful. Confident. Almost dangerous.
Almost like the kind of woman who could stand beside Dante Morelli.
⸻
The hotel ballroom shimmered with gold light and quiet power.
Men in tailored suits. Women in designer gowns.
Deals worth millions whispered over champagne.
When Dante entered, the crowd subtly shifted.
He didn’t need to command attention — it found him on its own. The air changed around him, as if every person instinctively recognized who held the highest cards in the room.
And then he saw her.
For a moment, even Dante Morelli forgot to breathe.
Selena stood near the edge of the crowd, her eyes scanning the room, unaware of the effect she had just caused.
He moved toward her — calm steps, slow and deliberate. The crowd parted easily as if the universe itself didn’t dare stand in his way.
“You clean up well, Miss Hart,” he murmured when he reached her, his gaze sweeping down her figure with lazy precision.
She forced a small smile. “And you give terrible notice for dress codes.”
That earned the faintest curve of his lips — not a smile, more like a shadow of one. “You seem to have managed.”
“Was this part of my job description?”
“Consider it… an extension.”
His tone made the word extension sound like an invitation and a warning all at once.
⸻
As the night went on, Dante introduced her to powerful men and elegant women, all of whom seemed either to fear or desire him — sometimes both.
Selena stayed close but quiet, her senses attuned to every glance, every whisper.
When she excused herself to the balcony for air, the night felt like freedom — cool and quiet, city lights glimmering far below. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply.
And then she felt it.
That presence.
That gravity that only one man in the world seemed to carry.
“Trying to escape already?”
She turned. Dante stood in the doorway, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of dark whiskey. The light behind him cast his features in shadow, but his eyes… they burned.
“I just needed a moment,” she said softly.
He stepped closer. “You shouldn’t disappear like that.”
“Why? Afraid I might embarrass you?”
He stopped only a few inches away. “Afraid someone else might find you first.”
Her pulse skipped.
The night air felt thicker, charged with something unspoken.
“You can’t talk to me like that,” she whispered.
“I just did.”
Their eyes locked — his, steady and dark; hers, wide but defiant.
“Dante…”
The way she said his name — breathy, uncertain, almost a confession — undid something inside him. His gaze dropped briefly to her lips, then back to her eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said.
“How am I looking at you?”
“Like you already know what’s going to happen.”
He leaned closer, voice low. “Maybe I do.”
For one long heartbeat, the world held still.
If he moved one inch closer, their lips would meet.
If she leaned in, she knew she wouldn’t stop.
But instead, Dante exhaled slowly and stepped back, his control snapping into place like a weapon.
“Go home, Selena,” he said, his tone softer now. “Before I forget I’m your boss.”
She wanted to speak, but he was already walking away, the echo of his footsteps fading into the music inside.
Selena’s chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. She touched her lips — untouched but burning all the same — and whispered to the empty night:
“Too late.”
- Writer
