Adrian Vale told himself he was busy.
Too busy to think of her.
Too busy to replay the smirk that had lingered on Elena's lips last night.
But he still found himself scanning the ballroom the following evening, his gaze restless until it landed on her.
She was laughing—actually laughing—with another man. The sound was soft, feminine, dangerous in how it pulled at him. Adrian had always prided himself on control, but something about Elena's laughter cut through the noise like a melody he wasn't supposed to hear.
It unsettled him.
He moved toward them before his mind could reason why.
Elena noticed him instantly. She had placed herself in this exact position for a reason—dancing with one of his business rivals, leaning just close enough to stir whispers. When Adrian's tall frame appeared in her periphery, she nearly smiled. Like clockwork.
"Mr. Rivas was just telling me about his plans for the new resort," she said sweetly as Adrian approached, as though she hadn't noticed his stormy expression.
Adrian's jaw tightened. He nodded curtly to Rivas, then turned his piercing gaze on her. "I wasn't aware you were interested in real estate development, Elena."
Her lips curved. "I wasn't aware my interests required your approval, Adrian."
The man beside her chuckled awkwardly, sensing the shift in atmosphere. Within moments, he excused himself, leaving them standing alone in the corner of the ballroom.
Elena tilted her head. "You scare men away without saying a word. Impressive talent."
"I don't scare them away," Adrian said smoothly. "I simply remind them where they don't belong."
"And where do I belong?" she asked, her voice a velvet challenge.
His gaze lingered on her too long. The answer he wanted to give—that she belonged here, beside him—burned in his chest, but he swallowed it down. "Not in the arms of a man who doesn't deserve you."
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Elena's breath caught, but she quickly masked it with a soft laugh. Inside, though, her heart hammered in betrayal. No. Don't you dare let him matter. She leaned closer, close enough for him to catch the faint scent of jasmine on her skin.
"You're dangerously close to sounding protective, Adrian," she murmured. "And I thought you didn't care."
His eyes darkened, a storm she almost drowned in. "I don't."
Liar.
Across the room, Bianca's wine glass cracked in her grip. Rage simmered in her chest as she watched Adrian's attention fixate on Elena again.
"Elena Cruz thinks she can waltz in and take everything from us," Bianca seethed.
Camila's eyes narrowed. "Then we remind her who holds the strings."
Later that night, Elena stood before her mirror, removing her earrings with steady hands. But her reflection betrayed her—a faint flush in her cheeks, a memory of Adrian's stare that refused to fade.
She hated it.
She hated him.
And yet… a part of her thrilled at how easily he unraveled around her.
She whispered to herself, low and sharp: "You're not here to fall for him. You're here to ruin him."
But the more Adrian Vale chased her, the harder it would be to remember which one of them was truly pulling the strings.