His presence is overwhelming. Dangerous. Calm. His grip tightens just enough to let me know I’m not going anywhere.
“Good.”
He praises me, sounding satisfied with my cooperation. My eyes snap up to the dark void of his mask, searching for a face I can’t form in my head clearly.
“You,” I breathe. The word comes out barely louder than a breath.
“You’re real.”
I whisper before I can stop myself, a realization that shatters the days of wondering if I was simply losing my mind.
A soft, almost amused sound escapes him. His hand at my waist shifts higher along my back, pulling me just a fraction closer. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough that I feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of my dress.
“I never said I wasn’t.”
It feels like the entire ballroom has disappeared. The music is a distant hum, the people around us nothing but blurred shapes.
“There are a lot of things you shouldn’t do, Madeline,” he continues quietly.
My breath catches at the way he says my name. Not like a threat, but like a prayer he’s been reciting in the dark.
“But walking straight into me,” he murmurs, guiding me gently through a slow, elegant turn.
“Might be the worst one so far.”
It’s not an accident. None of this is. My gaze lifts again and that’s when I notice it.
At first, I thought it was a trick of the light, a reflection from the crystal chandeliers above. But when he tilts his head, the dark hair at his temple shifts just enough for the pale streak to catch the glow. A single strand. Almost white. Platinum.
My breath drops. It’s the exact same unnatural shade that falls down my shoulders. A strange, electric feeling spreads through my body, something deeper than coincidence. Something unsettling and primal.
He notices immediately. He knows exactly what I’ve seen.
“You’re staring,” he says, his voice dropping an octave as he studies my expression.
“Your hair.”
He doesn’t answer. But he smiles. Not wide, and somehow that’s even worse. His teeth show slightly, sharp fangs in a way that feels almost predatory.
His fingers shift again at my waist, pulling me closer until my hip brushes his. The contact sends a sudden wave of heatthrough me. The reaction in his body is impossible to miss. Not aggressive. Not crude. But a subtle tension in the way his hand tightens my back. The slight change in his breathing. The way his body holds itself closer to mine than necessary.
For the first time since he caught me on the dance floor, his control slips just enough for me to feel it. Desire. The realization makes my stomach twist again.
“You were there,” I say quietly.
“Outside the salon.”
It’s not a question. It’s a statement. His expression doesn’t change, but the silence that follows confirms everything.
“That message.”
My voice is barely louder than the music.
“I listened”
“I know,” he confirms.
Then his hand tightens at my back as he pulls me through another slow turn.
