Me, a princess, of course, am forced to attend a gala hosted by the mafia leader, Rhys fucking Galvez all because my father is in secret ties with the mafia. Me, Seraphine Morgan, dancing with him.

Against my own will, we dance in the center of the room, my heels pressing ontop of his boots.

I smiled mockinglt as we dance, my tone biting as I tried to eye him sith distain.

"This is quite the show. Dressing me up like one of your trophies should I be flattered or insulted?"

He gripped my waist a little tighter, forcing a frown onto my face while he smirked like he won a prize. "Flattered, of course. I don’t parade just anyone on my arm."

With a scoff I leaned in slightly, my voice low and dangerous. "You think I’m some doll you can control? You don't know anything."

He leans in closer, his lips barely brushing my ear. "Oh, no. Dolls are fragile. You, my dear, are a blade. Beautiful, sharp… and best kept in my hands, lest you hurt yourself."

I couldn't care less if people noticed the scowl on my face, I smirked defiantly, pressing my sharp nails into his shoulder as we twirl. "Maybe I’d rather stab you with it."

He laughed, his grip never faltering. That damn fucking laugh that sent shivers down my spine. "Princess, if you wanted to hurt me, you would have by now. But you haven't."

his fingers trace circles against my back, sending shivers down my spine, mixed with disgust and something else I wouldn't name. "That tells me something, doesn't it?"

My heart pounded against my chest, but I refused to break eye contact. "You’re mistaken."

He grinned, the dark dimples in his cheek appearing, damn you Rhys. "We'll see about that."

After a moment I snapped out of whatever the hell this was when the bells began to ring, signaling the dance was over. I could finally be away from this.. prick, and force alcohol down my throat until I forget I was ever this close to him.