The chandelier glittered above me like a cage made of diamonds, heavy and suffocating despite its brilliance. I stood at the edge of the Rossi family's grand ballroom, my jaw clenched, glass of champagne untouched in my hand.
Another gala. Another evening of false smiles and sharpened knives disguised as polite conversation.
I hated these events.
I thrived in boardrooms, not ballrooms. In boardrooms, I controlled every move. I owned the table, the numbers, the silence. But here, among the swirling gowns and silver laughter of the city's elite, power wasn't spoken—it was performed. And tonight, I was being forced to perform on the stage of my sworn enemies.
The Rossi family.
My father's oldest rivals. The ones who had once nearly bankrupted us with a hostile takeover attempt fifteen years ago. The ones whose name was practically spit from the lips of every King family member at the dinner table.
Blood was bad for business. But the Rossis had turned blood into their favorite weapon.
I had come here for one reason: to show them I wasn't afraid. That Adrian King was not a man who bowed, not even to the devils in tailored suits.
"Mr. King," a voice purred to my right. A woman in sequins touched my arm lightly. Her smile was laced with the kind of ambition that made my skin crawl. "It's… brave of you to come tonight."
I gave her my most practiced smirk, the one that had closed billion-dollar deals and disarmed sharks across the globe. "I don't consider showing up brave. I consider it good business."
She laughed a little too loudly, hoping to cling to my arm for longer, but I excused myself with the ease of a man trained to navigate social minefields. I needed space.
The ballroom was too golden, too loud, every sound polished into emptiness. My eyes skimmed the crowd, counting enemies dressed as allies. My father's voice echoed again in my head—Trust no one with a Rossi smile.
And then I saw her.
She wasn't like the others.
At first, it was only the color that caught me—the blood-red silk of her dress, clinging to her frame as if the fabric itself was loyal to no one but her. She stood near the balcony doors, her posture straight, chin lifted, but her eyes—God, her eyes gave her away.
They weren't the painted-on eyes of a socialite accustomed to being worshipped. They weren't hungry or hollow. They were alive, burning, as though she were waiting for something dangerous to happen.
And for a moment, I forgot where I was. Forgot who I was.
The world dimmed. All I saw was her.
I took a sip of my champagne just to cover the betrayal of my attention. She was beautiful in a way that was… inconvenient. Beauty was common in these circles. But this—this felt like temptation sculpted into flesh.
And temptation was weakness.
I turned away before the weakness could root deeper.
But fate had a cruel sense of humor.
Because minutes later, chaos bloomed.
It started as a whisper, then a ripple through the crowd. A man, drunk and sloppy, cornered her near the balcony doors. His hand was on her wrist, too tight, his laugh a disgusting drawl that made bile rise in my throat.
She tried to pull back, her expression calm but her body rigid with resistance. No one moved to intervene. Not her friends. Not the so-called gentlemen. Everyone watched with thinly veiled amusement, whispering behind jeweled hands.
Predators. The lot of them.
I didn't think. I moved.
By the time I reached them, the man was tugging her closer, his mouth too near her ear. She turned her face away, her teeth clenched, fire sparking in her eyes.
"Let her go," I said, voice cold enough to freeze the air.
The drunk turned, blinking at me. Recognition flickered. His face twisted into something smug. "Adrian King," he slurred. "The vulture himself. You want her too? Get in line."
He laughed, tugging at her wrist again. She winced but didn't speak. She didn't need to.
I took one step forward. The crowd had gone silent now, their hunger shifting to me. They wanted a show. They always did.
I gave them one.
"Touch her again," I said, my voice low, lethal, "and I'll break your hand in front of everyone here."
The man's smile faltered. He tried to cover it with a sneer, but I could smell the fear rising off him. My reputation wasn't built on kindness.
Slowly, reluctantly, he released her wrist.
She pulled away, her breathing sharp but controlled. For a second, her eyes lifted to mine, and I saw something I hadn't expected. Not gratitude. Not relief. Something far more dangerous—interest.
"Careful, King," the man muttered, straightening his tie, trying to salvage his pride. "You're making enemies you can't afford."
I leaned in just enough for him to hear. "You have no idea the enemies I can afford."
He paled and stumbled back into the crowd, disappearing like the coward he was.
The ballroom exhaled. Conversations resumed, laughter rang louder than before, covering the scandal like perfume over rot. But the whispers would spread. Adrian King had stepped in. Adrian King had interfered.
I turned to the woman. She was rubbing her wrist lightly, her lips pressed together in a straight line. Her composure was impeccable, but I could see the storm raging beneath it.
"You didn't need to do that," she said finally. Her voice was softer than I'd expected, low and deliberate, as if she measured every word before releasing it.
"Didn't I?" I countered.
She met my gaze fully then, and it was like being pulled into a riptide. Her eyes weren't just alive. They were daring.
"You're not a hero, Mr. King," she said. "Don't play the part."
The corner of my mouth twitched. "Who says I was playing?"
Something flickered in her expression. She looked away first, her hand brushing down the silk of her dress as if erasing the moment.
"Thank you," she said reluctantly. "But you should be careful. Saving strangers in this city isn't good business."
Stranger. The word clung to me, even as she turned and walked away, red silk swaying like fire trailing behind her.
I should've let her go. Should've erased her from my thoughts as easily as I erased numbers from a ledger. But I couldn't. My eyes followed her through the crowd, even when she disappeared into the golden blur of the ballroom.
Something about her lingered.
Something I didn't like.
And then—
"Adrian."
My father's voice sliced through the noise, sharp and commanding. He was at my side, his silver hair gleaming under the chandelier, his jaw tight. "What the hell are you doing?"
I blinked, grounding myself. "What do you mean?"
"You just humiliated one of Rossi's closest allies. Do you have any idea what you've done?" His voice was a whisper meant to wound, his eyes narrowing into steel.
"I stopped a drunk from manhandling a woman," I said flatly.
"You stopped nothing. You've started something." His voice dropped lower, a hiss. "Do you even know who she is?"
I frowned, replaying the fire in her eyes, the silk red of her dress. A stranger. Just a stranger.
My father's lips curled into a bitter smile. "That 'stranger,' Adrian… is Isabella Rossi. Their heiress."
The world tilted. The chandelier's glitter blurred.
Isabella Rossi.
The forbidden name. The daughter of my father's sworn enemy.
The woman I had just saved.
The woman I couldn't stop thinking about.
And just like that, I knew—this wasn't the end of anything.
It was the beginning.