And then, just as quickly, she turns back toward the man beside her.
The guy. The one with his hands all over her.
She tilts her face up toward him, her lips parted, and for a moment, she looks at him the same way she looked at me earlier. But there’s something different about it. Something purposeful.
And then, in slow motion, I watch as her lips brush his.
That’s it.
My blood ignites, hot and violent, like a fire starting deep in my gut. I feel my fists clench involuntarily, the heat of jealousy and rage seeping into my bones. Every inch of my body tenses, and for the first time in a long time, I feel out of control.
How dare she?
She’s mine. She belongs to me. She doesn’t get to give him anything. Not like that. Not when I’ve already claimed her, when I’ve already shown her what it means to be mine.
I can’t take it anymore.
This is the last fucking straw.
I push off the glass, the anger burning hotter with every step I take. I don’t care about the women, the music, the distractions. All I care about is her. I need to make her understand. To make her see that she doesn’t get to play this game with me.
Chapter Eleven - Zoe
I show up at the club in a tight dress, determined to prove a point.
The kind of point that’s been rattling around in my head for days now. I’m tired. Tired of Lukin’s silent presence in my life—of the flowers, the bodyguards, the constant reminders of someone who doesn’t have the decency to explain himself.
It’s messing with my head. And I won’t let it anymore.
He hasn’t reached out since that time in the garden. Instead, he’s sending huge bouquets of flowers and trailing me silently. Why won’t he show his face? I’m done walking on eggshells
Tonight, I’m not looking for trouble, but I’m not here to play it safe either. I’m alone, and I’m not about to let the night be ruled by anything but me.
The moment I walk through the door, I feel the eyes of the men on me. They follow, tracking my every movement. I know why. It’s the tight dress, the bold lipstick—everything I chose to wear tonight. I know it’s drawing attention. I want it. I need it.
I push through the crowd, heading straight for the bar. I don’t look around for him—not yet. I won’t let him have that power over me. Tonight, this place is mine.
The bartender doesn’t waste time. A nod, a drink poured. I down it in one go, the burn of alcohol sliding down my throat. I feel my body loosen, the tension of the past few days finally starting to melt away.
“Another?” the bartender asks, but I shake my head. I’m not here for the drinks. I’m here for something else.
“Hello.” A deep baritone calls from behind me.
I turn, smiling when my gaze meets the eye candy standing a few feet away. He’s tall. Handsome. His smile is easy, too confident, but it doesn’t bother me. I’m not here to get into a deep conversation, I’m just here for fun.
He leans in, his voice low. “I’m Dennis,” he says smoothly, his smile widening. “Let me buy you a drink.”
I glance at the bartender, who’s already pouring another glass. Dennis slides a bill across the counter. I feel the weight of his eyes on me, his attention like a tangible thing. It’s flattering, in a way. The night feels like it’s shifting, like I’m finally in control of what happens next.
“Thanks,” I reply, and without hesitating, I take the drink from the bartender’s hand. “Sure, why not?”
He grins, that smug, charming look of a man who thinks he’s already won. He’s so sure of himself, and it’s actually kind of amusing. He extends his hand to me.
“Dance with me?” he asks, his voice carrying a challenge I can’t resist.
I pause for just a moment, feeling the pulse of the music around us. I can’t stop the laugh that escapes me. It’s not nervous, not hesitant. It’s liberating, like I’m finally shrugging off the weight of the past few days.
“Fuck it,” I mutter to myself, before stepping forward, taking his hand.
