Dominic #3
The sight of her standing there, flushing while she stared me down, hit me like a physical blow to the solar plexus. My pulse didn't just ramp; it detonated.
I looked at her—straight at her—as I continued to move.
I didn't stop. I wanted her to see. I wanted to see her break, to see that stubborn pride finally crumble under the weight of what I was doing.
But she didn't break. She held my gaze with a fury so sharp it felt like a razor dragged slowly against my throat, her eyes burning with a look that told me she hated this, hated me, and yet was tethered to the spot.
The shock of it—the fact that she was watching me, her face flushed and her defiance unwavering—tore the last shred of control right out of my hands. My breath punched out of me, a low, ruined sound that I couldn't leash.
It wasn't Sienna’s touch. It wasn't her voice. It was the girl in the doorway who refused to look away.
I went over the edge with a violence that left me empty, my fingers digging hard into the wall beside Sienna’s head as I stayed locked on Carter’s eyes. I finished because of her. Because she stayed. Because even now, she was finding ways to get under my skin that I hadn't authorized.
And I hated her for it. I hated that she’d seen the cracks, and I hated my body for responding to her presence like it was the only thing that mattered. She hadn't been the one trapped—I was.
Carter’s eyes held mine for one more shattering second. Then, she exhaled—a small, fractured sound—and faded from the reach of the light.
The door clicked shut.
Sienna sagged against me, murmuring something satisfied and sweet, her voice a dull hum in my ears. I didn't hold her back. I couldn't. My hands were still shoved against the wall, palms pressed flat with crushing force, my skin crawling with a sudden, sharp spike of resentment.
I hadn't just reacted. I’d been tripped up.
I’d spent the rest of the afternoon on the track trying to prove I was the one in control, only to have my body betray me the second Carter looked at me.
It wasn't some grand moment—it was a lapse.
A humiliating, visceral lapse in judgment triggered by someone who didn't even have to touch me to be a nuisance.
The fact that it had been her that dragged that final, ragged breath out of me made my blood turn to battery acid.
I wasn’t interested; I was livid that she was capable of distracting me from the only thing that mattered.
It was an insult, a break in my composure that I hadn't seen coming.
She was supposed to be the audience to my control, not the cause of its collapse.
Then, the noise rose from below.
A muffled crash. The sharp, frantic swell of voices. The unmistakable crackle of a disaster blooming exactly where I’d planted the seeds. I heard a shout, then the heavy, rhythmic thud of feet as people rushed toward the stage.
The irritation in my gut shifted, replaced by a warm, mean surge of victory.
Landon was currently being dismantled in front of the very donors my father worshipped.
My father’s hand-picked addition to my team was currently bleeding out under a spotlight I’d built for him with a few well-placed lies.
It turned out even the most precise hands fumbled when the floor was rigged to drop.
I straightened, shoving Sienna off me with a coldness that finally silenced her fluttering. I fastened my belt and adjusted my shirt, my movements becoming smooth and calculated again. The slip was over. The plan had landed.
“Dominic?” Sienna’s voice was small, confused.
“Leave,” I snapped, not even glancing at her.
She scrambled to gather herself, sensing the shift—the way the air had turned from heavy to lethal. She slipped out the door, and I let a slow, dark exhale leave my chest.
I’d set a trap for Landon, and I’d used Carter as the bait to keep myself covered. So what if she’d seen me? So what if my body had reacted to the spark in her eyes? It didn't change the board.
Landon was ruined. My father’s hand-picked savior was a laughingstock once again. And I was the only one in the building with a clean pair of hands and a perfect alibi.
I turned and walked toward the stairs, the sound of the growing chaos downstairs finally reaching its peak. I didn't feel like a person who’d been caught; I felt like a guy who’d just regained his edge.
Carter was an irritation, yes, but an irritation that was currently losing its teeth.
With Landon’s reputation bleeding out on the ballroom floor, she wouldn't have the footing to stand against me much longer.
Her father was the only thing keeping her in my world, and I was currently watching his legacy turn to ash from the top of the staircase.
By tomorrow, she wouldn't be a distraction—she’d be a memory.
But for now, the sound of Landon’s brief stint with me hitting the floor was enough to keep the scales even.
I adjusted my cuffs, smoothed my expression into one of concerned surprise, and headed down to watch the fallout. I wasn't just going to witness his humiliation; I was going to be the first one to offer him a hand while I stepped on his throat.