DRESSED TO DESTROY
610 Words
Elara’s POV
The invitation said Formal Attire.
Elara translated that to: Make them regret underestimating you.
The mirror in her apartment had never seen her like this. Crimson silk hugged every inch of her body like it had been poured on. The slit danced high up one leg, daring anyone to question her power. Backless. Bold. Untouchable.
Her curls were tamed into soft waves that kissed her shoulders, lips painted a shade redder than the dress. She didn’t need accessories.
She was the statement.
---
The gala was held in one of the city’s most elite hotels. Glass chandeliers, strings of violins, and enough wealth to fund a small country.
She walked in alone.
Unbothered.
And turned every single head.
Not because of the dress — though that helped.
But because of the confidence.
She didn’t belong here.
And yet, she owned it.
Across the room, champagne in hand, Jaxon Wolfe froze mid-conversation.
His jaw tightened. His grip on the glass twitched.
Because Elara Monroe had just walked in like temptation on a mission — and he was the target.
---
She locked eyes with him from across the room.
Held.
Dared.
Then broke the gaze first.
Let him stew.
She greeted board members like she was one of them. She smiled at wives who whispered behind manicured hands. She laughed with junior execs who couldn’t form full sentences around her.
And still, she felt his eyes.
Every. Second.
Burning a hole through the backless silk and straight into her spine.
Good.
---
“Impressive,” a low voice said behind her, velvet and unmistakable.
She turned.
Jaxon.
Black tux. Bowtie undone. Hair tousled like he’d been running his hands through it all night trying not to think about her.
“You clean up well,” she said casually.
He stepped closer. Too close.
“I was talking about you.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment.”
He didn’t smile.
But his gaze dropped for just a breath — from her eyes to her lips, down to the curve of her shoulder. Then back up, sharp and dangerous.
“Is this your way of proving a point?”
She took a sip of her champagne. “I don’t need to prove anything. I just like watching powerful men stumble.”
He leaned in, so close his breath tickled her ear.
“Then I hope you’re watching closely, Elara.”
Because he already was.
After the initial confrontation
Jaxon’s eyes never left her as she moved through the room like she owned the very air.
The hum of the gala faded into background noise.
Her heartbeat? Loud, uneven.
He was close now, the space between them charged.
“Do you always make a habit of stealing the spotlight?”
Her smile was slow, deliberate.
“Only when the room needs saving.”
His gaze dipped to her wrist, where a delicate bracelet caught the light — the one he’d secretly noticed on her first day, subtle but sharp. Like her.
“Funny,” he said softly, “I was just thinking I might need saving.”
She raised an eyebrow, daring him to explain.
Instead, his hand brushed a stray curl from her cheek — just the slightest touch, but it echoed in the space between them.
“Careful, Elara,” he whispered, voice low enough only for her. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
Her breath hitched.
“I like danger.”
For a moment, everything else — the music, the murmurs, the watchful eyes — disappeared.
It was just them.
And the fire they both refused to admit was already burning.
- Writer
