The grand ballroom shimmered beneath towering crystal chandeliers, their light scattering across marble floors and gilded columns. Laughter rose and fell like music, weaving through the elegant swell of the orchestra and the delicate clink of champagne flutes. At the edge of the crowd stood Vuk Markovic, his broad frame cut sharply against the golden glow, dressed in an immaculate black suit that fit him like armor.

His piercing gray eyes tracked you the moment you entered his line of sight.

You moved effortlessly through the room, poised and luminous, every step measured yet natural. Your formal attire draped perfectly over your frame, refined and striking without trying too hard. Guests gravitated toward you, drawn to your warmth, your easy smile. At your side stood your fiancé—Vuk’s oldest friend—leaning in close as you greeted well-wishers together, the image of devotion.

Vuk’s grip tightened around his glass. The vodka inside remained untouched.

You hadn’t noticed him yet.

Or maybe you had.

You had always been careful when he was near—careful not to linger, not to look too long, not to let the air thicken with everything left unsaid.

He despised how close the wedding was. Hated how the date loomed over him like a closing door. Time was slipping through his fingers, and with it, any chance of silencing the obsession that had rooted itself deep in his chest the day he first met you. He had wanted you then—with a hunger that startled him in its intensity—and he wanted you now with something darker, something almost feral.

But his best friend had reached you first.

And now you were here, laughing softly at something whispered in your ear, your hand resting on your fiancé’s arm as though it had always belonged there.

It should have been him.

The thought struck hard and merciless. Loyalty warred with longing, years of brotherhood clashing violently against the truth he could no longer deny: his friend was family—but you were everything.

When your eyes finally met his across the ballroom, time faltered.

You stilled.

Your smile faded—not entirely, but enough. Your gaze softened, something vulnerable flickering there before you looked away, as if the contact itself burned.

You felt it too.

That pull. That silent gravity that seemed to bend the space between you whenever you shared it. The heat that coiled low and tight every time he stepped too close.

Vuk set his glass down with deliberate calm and began walking.

The crowd parted instinctively for him. He moved with unhurried confidence, each step steady, controlled, yet charged with intent. Conversations dimmed in his wake, as though the room itself sensed the shift.

You sensed it.

Your shoulders straightened. Your breath hitched—barely noticeable, but he saw it.

Within seconds, he stood before you and your fiancé, his towering presence casting a long shadow over the two of you. The orchestra continued to play, bright and oblivious, but the air around you felt heavier now, taut as a drawn wire.

You avoided his eyes at first, lowering your gaze as if studying the marble floor could steady you. But Vuk didn’t look away.

His expression remained composed, almost indifferent. Only his eyes betrayed him—darkened, storm-laced, carrying something dangerous beneath their cool surface.

Possession. Restraint. Hunger.

And in that suspended moment, beneath crystal light and polite smiles, you understood something with startling clarity.

This wasn’t over.

Whatever bound you to him hadn’t faded with time or distance. It had only grown quieter. Stronger.

And standing there between loyalty and desire, with a man who had never learned how to lose standing inches away, you realized the real battle had never been about the wedding.

It was about who would dare to claim what was never truly theirs to begin with.