Chapter Four: Public Show
622 Words
The dress was too tight.
The neckline dipped dangerously low. The slit up the leg whispered scandal. And the black silk clung to Isabelle like it had made a deal with the devil.
“Is this really necessary?” she muttered, tugging at the hem.
Across the penthouse, Alexander didn’t even glance at her. He was adjusting his cufflinks with surgeon-like precision, dressed in a midnight-black tuxedo that screamed don’t touch unless you can afford to break.
“It’s a charity gala, not a nun’s retreat,” he said flatly. “You’re supposed to look like temptation.”
“I look like a bribe.”
He finally looked up.
And for a second—just a second—his jaw tightened. His eyes flicked down her body like a scan, fast and hot, before his face reset into neutrality.
“You’ll do,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all week.”
He stepped closer, fixing a diamond necklace around her neck. His fingers brushed the back of her skin, and goosebumps followed like shadows.
She froze.
He didn’t.
He leaned down, whispering low in her ear.
“You’re not here to talk. You’re here to be seen. To be mine.”
Her heart kicked.
She turned her head slightly, their lips almost brushing. “And when exactly did I become yours?”
He didn’t answer.
But the look in his eyes said: Tonight.
The Gala
The ballroom was all chandeliers and expensive lies. Champagne flowed. Diamonds sparkled. Laughter echoed like weapons.
Everyone noticed when Alexander Wolfe walked in.
Everyone stared when Isabelle was on his arm.
“You’re the woman who tamed the Ice King?” someone whispered as she passed.
She smiled sweetly. “More like leased him for six months.”
Alexander chuckled under his breath.
They moved through the crowd like fire and gasoline. Executives nodded. Socialites smiled with fake lips and faker intentions. Isabelle’s heels ached, but her smile never slipped.
Until—
Veronica.
The ex.
Tall. Blonde. Red dress. Sharper than broken glass.
She approached like a predator.
“Darling, I didn’t realize you’d downgraded,” she purred, eyes flicking to Isabelle.
“Veronica,” Alexander said, voice all steel.
But Isabelle beat him to it.
“Oh, you must be the ex-fiancée. I heard so much about you.” She extended her hand sweetly. “Mostly that you left crying.”
Veronica’s smile cracked.
Alexander’s brow lifted—barely. But he was watching her now. Closely.
Later, in a quiet corner, he handed her another glass of champagne.
“You handled that well.”
“I don’t like snakes,” she said. “Even the glittery kind.”
He stared at her for a long moment. Then, without warning, reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Why do you keep surprising me?”
“Because you expect me to fall apart,” she whispered. “And I won’t.”
His hand moved from her hair to her jaw, tracing it softly. “What if I want you to?”
Her breath caught.
He leaned in.
Closer.
So close.
Then their lips met.
Not tentative. Not experimental. It was claiming—hot, urgent, and unreasonably real.
The kind of kiss that tasted like danger and defiance. Like everything she wasn’t supposed to want—but couldn’t stop craving.
People were watching.
She didn’t care.
He didn’t stop.
When he finally pulled back, his voice was lower. Rougher.
“Good,” he said. “Now they’ll believe it.”
But her heart was thundering, and something in his eyes wasn’t acting anymore.
And that scared her more than anything.
End of Chapter Four.
- Writer
