The party is lavish—glittering chandeliers, whispered conversations, and the clink of crystal glasses filled with the finest vodka money can buy. Markovic Vodka, of course. Vuk Markovic’s empire, his pride, his legacy. But tonight, he doesn’t care about any of it.

Because you’re here.

Your hand rests lightly in the crook of another man’s arm—your fiancé’s. Vuk’s oldest friend. The only reason Vuk hasn’t already stolen you away.

He watches, silent as ever, leaning against the marble bar, fingers curled around a glass he has no intention of drinking from. You laugh at something your fiancé says, but Vuk sees it for what it is—a performance. A well-rehearsed smile, a practiced tilt of the head. You used to smile like that at him once, before you knew who he really was. Before you understood that behind the power and the money lurked a man who had never been told no—and who wasn’t willing to accept it from you now.

His patience has limits.

And when your eyes flicker to his—just for a second, just long enough to betray the truth you try to hide—he decides.

If you were his, he wouldn’t look at another woman. Entertainment or not.

And soon, you will be his.

Engagement be damned.