THE POWER OF PROXIMITY
997 Words
CHAPTER THREE
The morning sun didn’t rise over Manhattan; it shattered against the glass of the Moretti penthouse like a physical blow. I woke up with the weight of the emerald ring on my finger—a constant, cold reminder that my life was now a line item in a billionaire's ledger.
By 9:00 AM, a "glam squad" had descended upon me. They painted my face into a mask of high-society perfection and cinched me into a white tailored suit. It was a beautiful suit, but it felt like a straitjacket.
When I finally emerged, Dante was waiting. He looked over a tablet, his face a granite mask of focus. But as my heels clicked on the obsidian floor, his eyes did a slow, predatory sweep from my ankles to my throat.
"The suit fits," he said, his voice a low rumble. He stood up and walked toward me, not stopping until he was firmly in my personal space. I had to tilt my head back just to look at him. "But you look like you’re bracing for a hit, Elena. Relax your shoulders."
"It’s hard to relax when I’m being managed like a hostile takeover," I snapped.
Dante didn't flinch. Instead, he reached out, his hand hovering just inches from my face before he slowly tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His fingers didn't just touch the hair; they lingered on the sensitive skin of my neck, the heat of his touch sending a treacherous shiver down my spine.
"You’re flustered," he observed, a dark, mocking glint in his silver eyes. "Your pulse is racing right here." He pressed his thumb lightly against the vein in my neck.
"I'm annoyed," I corrected, though my breath was hitching.
"Good. Use that energy for the cameras."
The lobby was a sea of flashing lights. The moment we stepped out, Dante’s arm went around my waist. He didn't just hold me; he pulled me flush against his side, his fingers splaying wide over my hip. To the cameras, it was an embrace. To me, it was a display of absolute ownership.
"Mr. Moretti! Is it true the engagement was a secret?"
"Miss Vance, how did you capture the heart of the Lion?"
Dante leaned down, his nose brushing my temple. To the press, it looked like he was whispering a secret endearment. Instead, his lips grazed my ear as he murmured, "Smile, Elena. If you look that miserable, I’ll have to kiss you just to prove them wrong. And we both know you aren't ready for that."
My face burned. I forced a smile that felt like glass. "Dante is... full of surprises," I told the reporters, my voice tight.
Suddenly, the crowd parted. Julian Vane stepped forward, looking every bit the golden rival. "A beautiful story, Dante," Julian said, his eyes locking onto mine with a sharp, protective intensity. "But I find it hard to believe. Didn't Miss Vance try to have you arrested just last week?"
The reporters went silent. I felt Dante’s body turn to steel. He didn't pull away; instead, he shifted his grip, his hand sliding from my waist to the small of my back, pulling me even deeper into his shadow.
"Passions run high in our relationship, Julian," Dante said, his voice dropping to an icy, dangerous level. "Something a man who lives for spreadsheets wouldn't understand."
Julian stepped closer, his gaze lingering on the way Dante was holding me. "If the lady ever finds the passion a bit too... overwhelming... she knows where to find a more stable environment."
"She isn't going anywhere," Dante growled.
He practically dragged me toward the SUV. The door slammed shut, and for a moment, the silence was deafening.
"I told you," Dante hissed, turning to me. He didn't move away. He stayed close—too close. The interior of the car felt tiny, filled with the scent of his expensive cologne and pure, unadulterated tension. "Stay away from him."
"I didn't call him there!"
Dante leaned over me, his hand catching the headrest behind my ear, effectively pinning me against the leather seat. He didn't touch me, but the sheer proximity made my skin hum. He was so close I could see the darker flecks of grey in his eyes.
"He’s hunting, Elena," he whispered, his gaze dropping to my lips for a heartbeat too long. I thought he was going to do it. I thought he was going to break the one rule that kept this deal professional.
My heart was thundering against my ribs. I waited, frozen, my lips parted.
Then, he pulled back, a ghost of a smirk playing on his mouth as he realized exactly how much he had affected me.
"You're easy to read, Elena," he said, his voice returning to its cold, business-like tone. "Don't let your heart get involved in a game you aren't equipped to play."
"My heart is nowhere near this," I lied, my voice shaking.
"Good. Because tonight is the Founders’ Gala. We have to dance. And I expect you to be just as... reactive... on the dance floor as you were just now. It makes for a better show."
He turned back to his phone, dismissing me as if I hadn't just been breathless under his gaze. I looked out the window, my hands trembling in my lap. He was playing with me—testing my boundaries like a scientist with a subject.
He wasn't falling for me. He was breaking me. And as I looked at the massive emerald on my hand, I realized that the "performance" was going to be the most dangerous thing I had ever done.
Because Dante Moretti didn't need to love me to destroy me. He just needed to keep me close enough to burn.
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