A kiss for revenge

Sophie’s POV “The night I returned to destroy Adrian Blackwood was the night he kissed me first.” Five years. That’s how long it took me to sew my life back together after he tore it apart. Once, I was Sophia Hart—the darling of high society, the golden heiress of Hart Couture. My family’s name was stitched into gowns worn by queens and socialites, whispered like a promise of beauty and power. And then, almost overnight, it was gone. Our empire crumbled. Our name was dragged through scandal, mud, and ruin. And the man standing at the very center of it all, victorious and untouchable, was Adrian Blackwood. I told myself I would never come back to this city, never breathe the same air as him again. But fate has a wicked sense of humor. Tonight, I was standing at the entrance of his ballroom, wearing a dress of my own design, clutching a glass of champagne I hadn’t touched, and reminding myself of the only reason I returned. Revenge. My heels clicked softly against the marble floor as I stepped forward. A sea of diamonds and black tuxedos shifted around me, laughter bubbling like champagne, conversations curling like smoke. The Blackwood Charity Gala—of course he would host something as glittering and grand, as if flaunting how untouchable he was. No one recognized me at first. Not really. They glanced, stared, whispered—but I had changed. Gone was the naïve girl who used to hide behind her father’s shadow. I had sharpened myself, polished my edges, learned how to wear my scars like armor. Tonight, I wasn’t Sophia the ruined heiress. Tonight, I was Sophia Hart, designer. And Adrian Blackwood was about to notice. I could feel him before I saw him. That familiar pull in the air, like gravity bending toward something darker, heavier, inescapable. Then my gaze found him, and my breath caught, betraying me. He hadn’t changed. Tall, broad-shouldered, his black tuxedo cut with ruthless perfection, Adrian stood at the center of the room as if he owned not just the ballroom but the entire world. And in a way, he did. His presence demanded silence, demanded worship. His dark hair gleamed under the chandelier lights, his sharp profile carved with arrogance and ice. Adrian Blackwood—the man who destroyed my family. My chest tightened, not with fear, but with rage. I should have looked away. Instead, I stared, daring him to notice. And he did. His gaze locked with mine across the crowded room. For a second, the noise of the gala dulled, the chandeliers dimmed, the world itself seemed to hold its breath. His lips curved slowly—not in warmth, but in recognition. He knew me. Heat rushed down my spine, my pulse stuttering in defiance. He shouldn’t have recognized me so quickly. I was supposed to control the game, to lure him in, to make him dance to my tune. But from the way his eyes lingered, sharp and knowing, I realized something chilling. Adrian Blackwood had always been two steps ahead. I lifted my chin, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. If he thought he could intimidate me with a single look, he was wrong. I came back to burn him, and I would. “Miss?” A waiter appeared at my side, bowing slightly. “Mr. Blackwood requests your company.” My grip tightened on the glass. Of course he did. The predator never wasted time. “Lead the way,” I said coolly, my voice steady even as my heart betrayed me with a furious rhythm. The crowd parted for me as I followed the waiter across the marble floor, every step deliberate, every sway of my hips calculated. If Adrian Blackwood thought he could ruin me twice, he was about to learn how wrong he was. And yet, as he turned to face me fully, those storm-gray eyes pinning me in place, my breath caught again. Because standing before him, I realized something terrifying. I wasn’t ready for him. Not for the intensity of his presence. Not for the way his gaze stripped me bare. Not for the low, velvet tone of his voice as he finally spoke— “Sophia Hart. I was wondering when you’d finally come back.” My name on his lips was a sin wrapped in silk. For five years, I had replayed this moment in my head. I imagined spitting at him, slapping him, telling him he had destroyed me and that I had come to return the favor. Instead, I stood there frozen, staring at Adrian Blackwood as if I had been the one caught in a trap. “I see you remember me,” I forced out, my smile sharp, my tone casual, though my pulse hammered in my ears. “How could I forget?” His gaze lingered on me, tracing my face, my figure, every inch of me like he had all the time in the world. “The fallen princess of Hart Couture, back from exile.” The words were a knife, but I didn’t flinch. I tilted my chin higher. “Exile has its advantages. It teaches you to rise.” Adrian’s lips curved—not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. “And yet here you are, in my ballroom.” My ballroom. The way he claimed ownership of everything—even air—made my stomach twist with both fury and something far more dangerous. “I came to network,” I said smoothly, lifting my glass to my lips. “Designers need exposure. Powerful benefactors. Charity galas are good for that, aren’t they?” “Mm.” His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he didn’t believe me for a second. Then, without asking, he reached for my glass and set it aside. Before I could protest, his hand closed around mine—firm, unyielding—and he drew me toward the center of the ballroom. “Dance with me,” Adrian murmured, as though it were a command, not a request. Gasps rippled through the crowd. I felt every pair of eyes on me as he led me beneath the chandeliers, the orchestra shifting seamlessly into a slower waltz. My breath caught. This was not part of my plan. I was supposed to be the one seducing him, not the other way around. And yet… standing in his arms felt like stepping into a fire I couldn’t walk away from. His hand rested at the small of my back, strong and possessive, pulling me against the hard lines of his body. His scent—clean, dark, expensive—wrapped around me, dizzying. I kept my head high, refusing to let him see the effect he had on me. “You’ve changed,” Adrian said, his tone low, meant only for me. “People do, after betrayal,” I shot back. “Betrayal?” His brows lifted slightly, amusement flickering in his gray eyes. “Careful, Sophia. Words like that can be dangerous.” “Dangerous men don’t scare me.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Then you’re smarter than most… or far more foolish.” I clenched my teeth, fighting the urge to shove him away, to scream at him for every sleepless night, every ruined dream. But revenge required patience. Control. I couldn’t let him see the fury boiling inside me. So I smiled sweetly, my voice sugar-coated venom. “Perhaps I’m both.” He twirled me effortlessly, his grip never faltering, his presence suffocating and magnetic all at once. When he pulled me back against him, his lips brushed the shell of my ear, sending shivers racing down my spine despite myself. “I missed this,” Adrian whispered. My chest tightened painfully. He was lying. He had to be lying. This was just another game to him. I forced a laugh. “You missed having an audience, maybe. Dragging me into the spotlight again.” “No.” His tone was final, sharp, cutting through my defenses. His eyes locked on mine, and for one terrifying moment, I believed him. The music swelled, the crowd faded, and it felt like the world had narrowed to just him and me. His hand tightened at my waist, his other sliding up to brush my jaw with shocking tenderness. “You’ve come back stronger,” he murmured, voice like velvet steel. “But you’re still the same girl beneath it all. And you still don’t know how dangerous I am.” My heart stuttered. “Then maybe you should be careful of me.” Adrian’s lips curved again, this time with something darker—admiration, or perhaps hunger. And before I could think, before I could breathe, his mouth descended on mine. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tender. It was a claiming—hot, ruthless, devastating. The kiss stole my breath, stole my control, ignited my blood until I thought I’d drown in fire. I hated him. I hated him. I hated him. So why did my body melt against his like it had been waiting for this moment all along? The room erupted in whispers. The orchestra played on. And Adrian Blackwood kissed me as if he already knew— That the night I came back for revenge would be the night he began to ruin me instead. The kiss ended as suddenly as it began, leaving me breathless, my lips tingling, my mind a storm. I wanted to slap him, scream at him, anything to erase the way my body had betrayed me by leaning into his touch. Adrian’s eyes burned into mine, cold and unreadable, like he had just won a battle I didn’t know I was fighting. “You taste exactly the way I remember,” he murmured, his thumb brushing across my lower lip. My heart lurched. “You don’t know me anymore.” His smirk deepened, wicked and confident. “Oh, Sophia… I know you better than you think. And you didn’t come here to network.” I froze. He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear, his voice a silken threat that made my knees tremble. “You came back for me.” The world spun. I swallowed hard, trying to gather a reply, but my voice refused to obey me. Because in that moment, I realized something terrifying— Adrian Blackwood already knew my secret.