The Profile Gala was a dazzling affair, the air thick with wealth, power, and unspoken deals. The grand ballroom of the Astoria Hotel shimmered under cascading chandeliers, their golden light reflecting off the polished marble floors. The scent of expensive champagne and designer perfume clung to the air as the elite of the city gathered in clusters, trading hushed conversations and hidden intentions.
Adrian DeLuca entered with effortless command, his custom-tailored black Armani suit molding perfectly to his broad frame. The sharp cut of his jacket accentuated his powerful shoulders, the charcoal silk of his tie knotted with practiced precision. He exuded a quiet dominance, the kind that made people step aside without him saying a single word.
But his sharp gaze wasn't searching for business deals or political alliances.
He was looking for her.
And then—he saw her.
Valeria Ivanov was sin draped in silk.
She stood beneath the golden glow of the chandeliers, her presence alone stealing the attention of every man in the room.
Her dress was pure black silk, a masterpiece of temptation. The fabric hugged her body like liquid night, the neckline plunging deep, revealing the delicate curves of her cleavage in a way that was dangerously close to indecent. A thigh-high slit sliced up the side, exposing glimpses of her smooth, toned leg with every slow, deliberate step she took.
Her raven-black hair was swept into a loose, seductive updo, soft tendrils spilling down to frame her sharp, striking features. Tonight, her lips were painted a deep, sinful red, the color rich and provocative, a direct challenge to any man who dared look at her. A diamond choker adorned her throat, a silent promise of wealth, power—and submission, if one were bold enough to take it.
Adrian's pulse slammed.
Valeria turned her head slightly, as if sensing his gaze. And then—their eyes met.
The air between them crackled.
For a moment, the crowded ballroom ceased to exist.
But then Adrian did something dangerous.
He smirked.
And turned away first.
Straight toward another woman.
Valeria's expression remained unreadable, but the flicker of irritation in her chest was sharp.
Adrian had approached a tall, blonde socialite, the kind of woman who would be flattered by his attention. The woman—eager, giddy—placed a hand on his forearm, tilting her head as she laughed at whatever he whispered in her ear.
Bastard.
Adrian was playing.
So she would play harder.
With calculated grace, she strode onto the dance floor, her hips swaying in a way that made men stare. She reached the center and lifted a single hand, fingers curling in silent invitation.
A challenge.
Adrian saw her.
His smirk deepened.
He left the blonde without a second glance.
And stalked toward Valeria.
When he reached her, he didn't speak.
Neither did she.
Instead, he pulled her against him.
And they danced.
The music was slow, sultry—a symphony of tension.
Adrian's hand splayed across her lower back, his fingers pressing into the silk of her dress, warm and possessive. Their bodies molded together, the space between them nonexistent.
"Jealous?" Adrian murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear.
Valeria let out a soft laugh, rolling her hips against his. The way his grip tightened told her everything she needed to know.
"You wish," she purred.
Adrian chuckled, the sound dark and amused. "You're trembling, printessa."
She tilted her chin up, lips ghosting along his jaw. "From boredom."
His grip tightened.
With deliberate slowness, Valeria let her thigh slide against his, brushing against something hard and unmistakable. The sharp inhale Adrian took was nearly imperceptible—nearly.
He retaliated.
Dipping his head, he let his lips skim the sensitive curve of her throat. "Is that why you're clinging to me so desperately?"
Valeria's pulse spiked.
Adrian had never played this aggressively before.
She dragged her nails down his chest, deliberate and slow, then whispered against his lips, "Tell me, Adrian… do you want to fuck me, or fight me?"
His hand jerked her closer, his breath uneven.
Her thigh pressed harder against him.
His voice dropped, rough and dark. "Both."
She smirked.
The moment the song ended, Adrian didn't let her go.
Instead, he leaned in, his mouth brushing just beneath her ear. "Come with me."
She arched a brow, lips curving. "If I say no?"
Adrian smirked. "You won't."
And he was right.
Because Valeria let him take her hand.
He led her through the lavish ballroom, past gilded walls and silk-draped tables, past curious onlookers who sensed something electric between them.
He didn't stop until they reached a private guest room at the far end of the hall.
The second the door shut behind them, Adrian had her against it.
His hands gripped her waist, pushing her flush against him. His mouth was hot, demanding against hers, the kiss a war of dominance.
Valeria moaned, her fingers tangling in his dark hair.
Adrian groaned, his hands sliding down, palming her ass through the silk of her dress. "You drive me insane," he growled against her lips.
Valeria laughed, breathless. "Good."
Then she did something dangerous.
She rolled her hips against him again, slow and deliberate.
A sharp curse left his lips.
His hand shot up to her throat, tilting her head back, exposing her soft, vulnerable neck to his hungry mouth.
Valeria shuddered, heat curling low in her belly.
She felt his hardness pressed against her stomach, and it sent a delicious thrill through her veins.
"Tell me to stop," Adrian whispered against her skin, his lips teasing, his hands gripping her too tightly.
Valeria met his gaze—dark, burning, waiting.
She smirked.