The masquerade ball was extravagant, filled with the city's elite—men in sharp suits and women dripping in jewels. I wore a crimson gown that clung to my curves, the mask barely concealing my identity. Derek had insisted I attend—his way of showing me off, of reminding me that I was his.
He stayed close, his hand lingering on the small of my back, his presence suffocating yet intoxicating. Every time another man's gaze lingered on me too long, Derek's grip tightened, his possessiveness unmistakable.
At some point, he led me onto the dance floor. The moment our bodies aligned, the air between us ignited.
"You're playing a dangerous game," I murmured, my breath hitching as his hand slid lower.
His smirk was dark, wicked. "And you're enjoying every second of it."
I should have denied it. Should have pushed him away. Instead, I let him lead me, let him control the rhythm, just as he was slowly controlling me.
---
As the evening wore on, Derek's grip on me never loosened. His presence was a constant shadow, his dark gaze unwavering.
"Are you having fun?" he asked, his voice low and intimate as he handed me a glass of champagne.
I took a sip, the bubbles dancing on my tongue. "Am I allowed to?"
His smirk was slow, confident. "Only if it's with me."
Before I could reply, a stranger approached, his eyes flickering between me and Derek. "May I have this dance?"
Derek's hand tightened around his glass, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned to me, waiting.
I knew what he wanted—to see if I would defy him if I would push back.
So I did.
I placed my hand in the stranger's and allowed him to lead me to the dance floor. But the entire time, I felt Derek's gaze searing into my back, promising retribution.
And when the dance ended, and I returned to Derek's side, his expression was unreadable.
"You're braver than I thought," he murmured, his fingers brushing against mine. "But you forget one thing."
I swallowed hard. "What's that?"
His smirk was pure sin. "No one else touches what belongs to me."