A kiss for revenge

The Devil's Dance

Adrian’s POV

She came back. I knew she would.

From the moment the first flash of midnight silk brushed across the marble floor, I felt it—her presence. Even before I saw her face, the air shifted. It always did with Sophia Hart.

Five years had passed since I last laid eyes on her, and yet the memory of that stubborn chin, those fire-lit eyes, and the way she looked at me as though I were both her ruin and her salvation… none of it had faded.

And now, here she was. My little heiress, reborn as something sharper, darker, more dangerous.

The crowd noticed her, of course. How could they not? She had always been the kind of woman who turned heads without trying. But tonight was different. She wasn’t clinging to her father’s arm, giggling at society’s compliments. Tonight she stood alone. Poised. Elegant. A wolf dressed as a goddess.

And her eyes—those eyes found me across the room without hesitation.

She hated me. I saw it in the flare of her nostrils, the tight grip on her glass, the flash of anger that burned hotter than the chandeliers above.

But beneath that… desire.

I smiled.

So the girl wanted to play a game. Pretend she could seduce me, manipulate me, and then walk away with her revenge neatly tied in a bow. I almost laughed. Did she really believe she could win against me?

I let my gaze linger deliberately, watching her stiffen under the weight of it. Every inch of her screamed challenge, but I had been playing this game long before she knew the rules.

She thought she had returned for vengeance. What she didn’t realize was that I’d been waiting for her—for this moment—for far longer than she could imagine.

And I never wait without a plan.

I remembered the night Hart Couture fell. The headlines screamed of bankruptcy, scandals, unpaid debts. The fashion empire Sophia’s father built crumbled overnight, and the golden girl of the industry disappeared with it.

The world assumed Adrian Blackwood had been the executioner. And Sophia… she believed it too.

I let her.

Because the truth was darker, and she wasn’t ready to hear it. Not then.

Her father had been reckless—gambling with investors, cutting corners with designs, signing contracts he couldn’t uphold. By the time he came to me for help, he was already drowning. I could have pulled him out. I had the resources, the influence, the money.

But why save a man who had already sold his own daughter as collateral?

I clenched my jaw at the memory. Richard Hart had been willing to trade Sophia’s future—her name, her freedom, her career—to secure his empire. And I, for one wild, selfish second, had considered it.

Because I wanted her.

Even then, before she hated me, before she looked at me like I was her ruin, I wanted Sophia Hart more than I wanted my next breath.

But I couldn’t tell her that. Not when she was still a girl blinded by loyalty to a father who would have destroyed her.

So I let the empire fall. I let the world curse my name. And I let Sophia believe I was the villain.

It was easier that way.

Until tonight.

Now, standing across the ballroom, watching her dressed in midnight silk with eyes that promised war, I realized something had shifted. She wasn’t the sheltered heiress anymore. She had claws now, sharp enough to draw blood.

And God help me, I wanted to feel them.

She moved through the crowd with the poise of a queen reclaiming her throne, pausing to exchange polite words with men twice her age, smiling like she owned the room. None of them saw the fury burning beneath the surface. But I did.

Because I had put it there.

And maybe—just maybe—that fury was the only thing keeping her alive in my world.

My fingers tightened around my glass, the crystal cutting cool against my skin. I couldn’t let her walk away again, not now that she’d returned to my city, to my world.

Not now that she thought she could outplay me.

She wanted revenge? Fine. I would give her the perfect stage for it. I would let her believe she had the upper hand, that she could manipulate me with her beauty, her wit, her carefully sharpened edges.

But at the end of the game, Sophia Hart would learn what I already knew:

You don’t play with Adrian Blackwood.

You belong to him.

The string quartet shifted into a slower rhythm, and the ballroom adjusted with it. Couples drifted toward the dance floor, laughter blending with the faint hum of crystal glasses and perfume in the air.

My gaze never left her.

Sophia tried to blend into the crowd, sipping her champagne, pretending her hands weren’t trembling slightly around the stem of her glass. Pretending she wasn’t aware of me watching her like a hawk.

I set my glass down and moved. The crowd parted without protest; they always did. Being Adrian Blackwood came with that effect—doors opened, conversations stilled, and people stepped aside. Power wasn’t spoken; it was felt.

When I reached her, she stiffened. Her eyes flicked up, meeting mine, and for a fraction of a second, I saw the girl I remembered. The girl who once laughed too loud, dreamed too big, and wore her heart where anyone could wound it.

But tonight, she wore armor.

“Dance with me,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

Her lips parted in protest, but I caught the flicker of panic before she masked it with defiance. “No.”

I smiled slowly, extending my hand anyway. “I wasn’t asking, Sophia.”

Something in my tone—or maybe the weight of everyone’s eyes on us—made her hesitate. And then, with a sharp inhale, she placed her hand in mine.

Victory tasted sweet.

The moment her palm pressed against mine, heat surged through me. It shouldn’t have. Not after all these years, not after everything that had burned between us. But it did.

I led her to the center of the floor, positioning her close enough that I felt her breath catch against my chest. Her body was tense, rigid, fighting the proximity even as she followed my steps with instinctual grace.

“You’ve changed,” I murmured, my lips close enough to brush the shell of her ear.

Her chin lifted stubbornly. “Not for you.”

Ah, there she was—the fire, the venom. My little heiress thought she could wield it like a weapon. What she didn’t realize was that I had forged that fire myself.

The music swelled, and I spun her, pulling her flush against me. Gasps rippled around the room, but I didn’t care. Let them watch. Let them whisper.

Because this wasn’t just a dance. This was possession.

“Careful,” I whispered, my hand pressing lightly against the small of her back, anchoring her. “You’re playing with fire.”

Her eyes blazed as she met mine. “Maybe I want to burn.”

God help me, I almost believed her.

The song shifted, the notes lingering like smoke, and I didn’t think—I acted. I captured her mouth with mine.

The kiss was deliberate, controlled, a storm I unleashed because I knew it would shatter her defenses. She gasped against me, her fingers clutching my jacket as if she hated the betrayal of her own body.

And still, she kissed me back.

Triumph roared through me. She wanted revenge, but her lips told a different story. Her body remembered me, hungered for me, even when her mind screamed to resist.

When I pulled back, her eyes were wide, furious, vulnerable. Exactly where I wanted her.

I let my thumb trace the corner of her mouth, savoring the tremble she couldn’t hide.

“You haven’t learned a thing, Sophia,” I murmured, my voice low enough for only her to hear. “I always win.”

She jerked back, about to speak, to deny, to throw her walls back up.

But I leaned closer, my words slicing through her composure like a blade.

“Your father’s fall wasn’t an accident. And if you want to know the truth…” My lips hovered over hers, so close she shivered.

“…you’ll have to stay very, very close to me.”