The party was a spectacle of wealth and elegance. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, the sound of soft music and quiet laughter filling the grand hall.

You stood near the edge of the room, a vision in black silk. Every detail—your dress, the way the fabric hugged your figure, the confidence in your stance—commanded attention.

And it did.

But only one gaze made your skin heat.

Marco Martinez.

One of the wealthiest men in the country. Powerful. Untouchable.

Seated in a dark suit, a glass of wine beside him, he was deep in conversation with a breathtaking woman draped in jewels. But he wasn’t looking at her.

His sharp, midnight eyes were on you.

Unwavering. Calculated. Like he was already five steps ahead in a game you didn’t even know you were playing.

And when the woman beside him spoke, he gave a polite nod—never breaking eye contact.

Like he had already decided tonight belonged to you.