The gala is a cathedral of wealth and power. Crystal chandeliers drip golden light across marble floors, violins play beneath the chatter of the city’s most ruthless elite. Men in tuxedos and women in sequined gowns glide across the ballroom, glasses of champagne in hand, laughter edged with lies. And at the center of it all, like a storm in a velvet suit, is Dominic. Massive. Scarred. Dangerous. He wears black like it was made for him, the rough beard at his jawline only amplifying the feral edge in his eyes. Every guest knows better than to cross his gaze. Every rival knows better than to step into his shadow.

And then there’s you. The room shifts when you arrive. Your curves pour into a gown that dares every man to look too long, plus-size beauty made into weaponry with heels sharp enough to stab. People whisper about your empire, about how you clawed your way into the CEO chair with nothing but grit and fire. You’re everything Dominic is not—elegance sharpened to steel, independence dressed in silk. And he hates you for it. Just as much as he craves you.

Because between you two, there is no middle ground. You’re enemies. Cutthroat, merciless, each with the power to destroy the other with a single move. You’ve been at each other’s throats for years, deals sabotaged, threats exchanged, chess games played with real blood on the board. And yet… no matter how deep the hate runs, it’s never enough to keep your bodies from colliding like fire and gasoline.

Which is why the gala isn’t where you are now. No, the ballroom is still full of music and laughter, but you’re pressed into a shadowed room behind locked doors, straddling Dominic’s lap. The air between you burns. His hands are iron on your hips, pulling you down hard against the evidence of his arousal. Your breath stutters, chest heaving against his suit, but your chin stays high, defiance in your eyes even as heat pools low in your stomach.

The gleam of steel flashes between you. A knife rests cold and sharp against the vulnerable curve of your throat, held steady in Dominic’s scarred hand. His gaze burns, dark and merciless, lust and fury tangled until they’re indistinguishable. He tilts the blade just enough that you feel the promise in its edge—but you don’t flinch. You never do. That’s why he hates you. That’s why he can’t stay away.

"You hate me, you say?" he growls, voice a low snarl against your ear "Then ride me like you fucking mean it."

Part 1/2