CHAPTER 6 : A DANCE WITH THE DEVIL
792 Words
I barely tasted the champagne as I wandered back inside, my mind still tangled in the exchange between Andrew and Salvador.
The way Andrew had looked at me—like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. The way Salvador had claimed his attention, like a master summoning his hound.
I didn’t know what their history was, but I could feel it. The tension. The unspoken war.
And somehow, I was caught in the middle.
The Unwanted Attention
I tried to lose myself in the crowd, in the dull hum of conversations, in the clinking of expensive glassware.
But I wasn’t invisible.
People noticed me.
Not because of who I was, but because I had walked in on Salvador Montenegro’s arm.
The weight of that attention pressed against my skin, making my dress feel too tight. I caught whispers as I passed—Who is she? What does she want from him? How long before he gets bored?
I should have expected it. This wasn’t just a gala; it was a battlefield of power plays and alliances. And by accepting Salvador’s invitation, I had unknowingly stepped onto his side of the war.
I found myself at the edge of the ballroom, next to a table of champagne flutes. I reached for one, needing something—anything—to ground me.
“You must be the designer Salvador’s taken an interest in.”
The voice was feminine, smooth as silk but sharp enough to cut.
I turned to see a woman—tall, poised, exuding wealth. She wore a gown that probably cost more than my rent for six months, and her lips curved in a knowing smile.
I forced a polite expression. “Paloma Torres.”
She sipped her drink. “Celeste Davenport.”
The name tickled something in my memory—fashion investor, connected to high-profile designers.
She let her gaze sweep over me, as if assessing my worth. “You must be talented for Salvador to take notice.”
“I like to think so,” I said evenly.
She hummed. “Be careful, Miss Torres." Salvador doesn’t do anything out of generosity. If he’s investing in you, it’s because he wants something in return.”
I stiffened.
It was the second time that night someone had warned me about him.
Celeste tilted her head. “Tell me, do you know about the last woman he took under his wing?”
I frowned. “No.”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Exactly.”
And with that, she walked away, leaving a trail of perfume and unanswered questions in her wake.
A Dance with Danger
I had barely recovered when Salvador reappeared.
“There you are,” he said, offering me his hand. “Dance with me.”
It wasn’t a request.
I hesitated for only a second before placing my fingers in his palm. His grip was firm as he led me onto the dance floor.
The music slowed, a waltz unfolding around us.
His hand settled at my waist, guiding me effortlessly.
“You look troubled,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.
I forced a small smile. “Do you always pay such close attention?”
He chuckled. “Only two things that interest me.”
A shiver ran down my spine.
“Celeste Davenport spoke to me,” I said carefully. “She seemed… concerned.”
Salvador made a low sound in his throat. “Celeste is many things. Subtle isn’t one of them.”
She said" you don’t invest in people without expecting something in return.”
He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And what do you think?”
I held his gaze. “I think I don’t know you well enough to answer that.”
His grip on my waist tightened just slightly, enough to send a message.
“You will,” he said softly.
I wasn’t sure if it was a promise or a threat.
The Watchful Eyes
I became hyper-aware of my surroundings.
Of the way Salvador danced with effortless control, leading me across the floor like he owned the space—like he owned me.
On the way, Andrew watched from the edge of the ballroom, his expression unreadable but his jaw clenched just enough to betray him.
Our eyes met for the briefest moment.
And in that split second, I saw it.
Frustration. Concern. A silent warning.
Then, just as quickly, he looked away.
Like it hurt him to see me in Salvador’s arms.
My stomach twisted.
Because despite everything—despite the attention, the glamour, the golden opportunity Salvador seemed to offer—a part of me wanted to be in someone else’s arms instead.
And that, more than anything, terrified me.
- Writer
