Enzo barked a laugh.“What?Too fancy for you?”
“I’m not hungry,” she muttered.
He snorted, clearly unimpressed, and snagged a napkin from another passing waiter.“Suit yourself.”He began piling it high with appetizers, the napkin already buckling under the weight.Popping one into his mouth, he chewed noisily and spoke around the food.“You’re gonna pass up food like this?These are awesome!”
“I’m sure they’re delicious,” Lexie replied, her voice tight as she smoothed a hand over the clingy fabric of her dress.The pink satin garment was a disaster.Ruched on both sides, it clung to her body like shrink wrap, leaving very little to the imagination.The hem barely covered her butt, and the plunging neckline was so precarious that she’d spend the entire night praying one of her nipples wouldn’t decide to make an uninvited appearance.
She hadn’t chosen this dress, of course.It had been delivered to her doorstep in a sleek black box earlier this afternoon, along with a note scrawled in Enzo’s unmistakably sloppy handwriting:Wear this tonight.E.
She wanted to burn it.The gaudy satin band-aid was a far cry from the elegant, understated style she preferred.But Enzo’s veiled threats weren’t something she could ignore, and she knew refusing his “gift” wasn’t an option.Now, as she stood in this cavernous ballroom surrounded by Seattle’s elite, she felt like an imposter in her own skin.
The guests were a mix of old money and new power, their laughter too loud, their smiles too pointed.Men in tailored suits puffed on cigars and exchanged handshakes that seemed more like veiled power plays.Women draped in designer gowns and glittering jewelry flitted about like glamorous predators, their gazes assessing Lexie with thinly veiled curiosity and amusement.
“I hope you appreciate the effort I went to,” Enzo said smugly, waving his napkin piled high with appetizers like it was a victory flag.“That dress?Perfect for you.You’re turning heads everywhere tonight.”
Lexie bit back the retort on her tongue and forced a tight smile.She didn’t need his compliments; she needed a way out.The pink dress wasn’t a gift—it was a trap.Satin and sequins designed to make her visible, vulnerable, and unmistakably his.Every shimmer under the chandelier lights felt like a spotlight, reminding her she was here on his terms.
The laughter and clinking glasses around them only made it worse.She felt like a lamb in a glass pen, paraded before the wolves.
She caught her reflection in a nearby mirror and almost winced.The other women in the room wore understated elegance—black silk, deep jewel tones, clean lines.She was the only one who looked like a cheap hooker.At least she’d refused to plaster on extra makeup or tease her hair to match the dress.
“I’m sure they are curious,” she said quickly, her tone just polite enough to pass.
It wasn’t a lie.People were staring.Not because she was captivating, but because she was a glaring, bubblegum-pink anomaly in a sea of refinement.Every nerve in her screamed to run, but the satin clung like a second skin, and the shadow of those damn videos kept her chained to Enzo’s side.
And then her luck gave out completely.
The crowd shifted, opening a clear line of sight across the room.
Maximillian Diatras.
He stood near the center like a king holding court, every movement controlled, every glance deliberate.At first, his gaze passed over her without pause—an idle survey of his surroundings.But then his eyes came back.Higher this time, locking on her face.
Lexie’s breath caught.
The change in his expression was slight—just the faintest widening of his eyes, the hard line that carved into his jaw—but she felt it like a punch to the gut.
Recognition.
And then, far worse.
Fury.
From across the ballroom, Max’s gaze burned into her like a laser.He wasn’t just angry; he was livid.His tall, powerful frame remained deceptively still, but his piercing gray eyes spoke volumes.The crowd around him, laughing and chatting, seemed oblivious to the storm brewing beneath his composed exterior.
Enzo, clueless as ever, chuckled and nudged her.“See?Told you this dress would turn heads,” he said, clearly mistaking Max’s expression for admiration.“I think he’s impressed.”
Lexie swallowed hard, ignoring the heat rising in her cheeks.She wasn’t stupid—she could read Max like a book.He wasn’t impressed.He was furious.And when Maximillian Diatras was angry, the fallout was inevitable.
Max lifted a single finger.It was a subtle, almost casual gesture, but it sent a ripple through the room.His personal assistant, Ramone, immediately leaned in to hear whatever Max whispered into his ear.The exchange was quick—efficient—and Lexie knew exactly what was happening.
Her heart sank as Ramone straightened, scanning the room before locking on her.He started moving, making his way through the guests with the kind of predatory grace that made her feel like prey.Every step he took made her chest tighten further, and by the time he reached her side, she was holding her breath.
“Max would like a word with you,” Ramone said quietly, his voice calm but carrying an authority that brooked no argument.
Lexie forced herself to exhale, though her lungs still felt constricted.She glanced at Enzo, whose smug grin faltered slightly.He may have been too dense to understand the full gravity of the situation, but even he could sense the tension now.
“Is that so?”she replied, trying to sound nonchalant despite the panic clawing at her insides.Her fingers clenched around her satin clutch, and she had to remind herself to keep breathing.
