The Dinner Gamble

It seems as though everything transforms when I enter the opulent ballroom. The air clings to my skin, heavy with the aroma of pricey perfume and roses. With every step I take, my heels click against the marble floor, drawing me farther into Damian's realm, which I am forced to traverse.

I detest it.

The clinking of glasses, the low buzz of business dealings being conducted under the pretense of social pleasantries, and laughter fill the room. However, none of that is important. My gaze is fixed on the man who currently owns me. With his back straight, his commanding posture, and his undeniable presence, Damian Wolfe stands in the middle of it all.

He is aware of my presence.

As soon as our eyes contact, I sense it. Across the room, his dark blue eyes meet mine, and I get a chill from the intensity of his gaze. Even when I try, I can't help but look away. Despite my best efforts to resist, there is a magnetic pull between us that draws me in.

However, he then does something unexpected, turning away from me once more, and leaving me stuck in the center of the packed room. I'm confused and frustrated, and my heart is thumping in my chest. It resembles a game that I don't comprehend. He wants me to follow, but he won't let me know what he wants.

I have no desire to follow him. I don't. However, as I approach him, my feet turn on me and start to move on their own.

By the time I get to his side, he's talking to someone, a tall, well-dressed man whose name I'm sure I should recognize but can't place. Damian doesn't even look at me, but the man nods in greeting. As though I were merely an afterthought, he just kept chatting.

Tension permeates the air around us, and it comes from more than just the throng. It comes from him. from us. I want to feel upset. I want to yell at him, insist that he give me a look, and make him acknowledge me. However, I take no action. I remain silent and remain a shadow at his side.

Nevertheless, I sense him. His entire body.

I feel lightheaded when his aroma, which is strong and reminiscent of pine and musk, combines with the room's perfume to create a concoction of intense, rich scents. I can't get away from his all-consuming presence. I feel a surge of heat as his hand hovers at his side, just inches from my arm. I'm not sure if I'm craving his contact or his control over me.

He abruptly breaks the long stillness between us by saying, "Lyra, you should smile more."

I give him a startled look. He continues to turn his head away from me and focus on anything else. However, his remarks and informal tone startled me.

I say more abruptly than I meant to: "I'm not here to smile."

Before turning to face me directly, Damian's lips twitch at the corners and his eyes briefly light up with laughter. For a little moment, his face softens. "Not. Aren't you here to make an impression?

I swallow forcefully, not wanting to appear weak. "You insisted, so I'm here."

Something evil flickers over his features as his stare sharpens. "And yet, Lyra, you still haven't figured out how to play the game?"

His comments weigh heavily on my chest, yet I choose not to respond. He is correct. I haven't. I'm not sure how to follow his rules.

The air is interrupted by a quiet voice before I can reply. "Damian, my love."

A woman approaches us with a calculating and brilliant smile. She is stylish and gorgeous in a way that is exclusive to women in his society. She is tall, has flawlessly styled dark hair, and wears a beautiful gold outfit. I despise her right away.

When she comes closer, Damian doesn't even recognize me. With his hand extended and a kind yet aloof look, he approaches her to meet her. That's when I know that he genuinely doesn't want to play games with me. Not when there are other women to amuse him and divert his attention.

I can't identify the unpleasant sensation that makes my chest constrict. However, I push it aside. I don't want him to know how much it annoys me. I have never exhibited weakness, and I won't now.

However, the woman stays. Rather, she narrows her gaze and faces me. "And Damian, who is this?" Her voice is pleasant, almost saccharine, as she asks.

Every part of me wants to turn and leave, but I force a grin. I say, "My name is Lyra Ashford," the words coming out of my mouth naturally.

She looks me up and down with a piercing, calculating glance without answering right away. I've seen this gaze a lot before; it evaluates me based on what I stand for rather than who I am.

She nods, at last, her lips curling into a tiny smile. She says, "How... interesting," with a tone that I can't quite identify.

Damian moves forward before I can react, placing his hand on my back and causing my dress to burn from the heat of his touch. He says, "Lyra," in a low voice that sounds like an order. "I'm going to have a quick conversation with someone. Remain here.

Remain here. As if I had an option.

With my face barely able to hide the annoyance, I nod.

I can't get rid of the impression that I've been thrown out as he leaves, like a piece of furniture in a crowded room. My eyes follow him, but I'm not looking at him right now. It's how other ladies observe him. How they try to attract his attention by touching his arm excessively and laughing too loudly. I can't help but sense the attraction between them, like a magnetic force.

He turns back to face me just when I think I can handle it no longer. Tension crackles in the air, an unsaid agreement, something passes between us as our eyes meet across the room.

He's not done with me yet. By no means.

I'm not sure if I should be scared or relieved.

The remainder of the night flies by. Around me, the music whirls, and the background chatter is a monotonous hum. However, I can't get Damian out of my head—the way he can make me feel with a single look, touch, or word. I'm not interested in wanting him. This draw, this attraction that makes my skin burn and my heart race, is not something I want to experience. I can't help it, though.

Damian arrives at my side just as I believe I've settled into this weird new reality.

His presence is oppressive. However, as he stands by me this time, something is different. There's something that makes my heart race that has nothing to do with dread.

The slightest contact from his fingers on mine sends a shockwave through me.

He whispers, his breath warm against my ear, "I'll be watching you, Lyra." "Tonight is only the first step."