Chapter 8, Mira
The audacity of this man—whose identity is no longer a mystery—knows no bounds. How dare he walk up to us, insert himself even further into my life, as if he had not already invaded every part?
He challenges Julian, that much is obvious. But more than that, he reminds me—shows me—that he is in control of the situation. Even here, in a place that does not belong to him, he owns the moment.
“Would I be so fortunate as to steal your enchanting creature for a dance?” he asks, his tone dripping with something mischievous and amused.
I seize Julian’s arm firmly.
“No, thank you. My boyfriend doesn’t like to share.”
Xan drags a hand through his tousled hair, laughter rolling off him with infuriating ease.
“If I had you at my side, I wouldn’t like to share either,” he says, each word measured. “In fact, I wouldn’t ever share at all. I would keep you to myself—forever. Just to make sure no one else could ever lay claim to what should only be mine.”
I laugh. "Wow, that sounded exactly like something a guy with women locked in his basement would say."
I catch the subtle narrowing of his eyes.
"I might. What is it to you? Want a room?"
I turn to Julian, expecting him to intervene, to put an end to whatever this is. But he says nothing. He looks everywhere but at me.
“You know what?” I hear myself say, my voice steadier than I feel. “I accept.”
Xan darkens behind his mask. He steps in, so close I can feel the heat of him as he murmurs just for me—
“Good girl.”
The moment his hand clasps mine, a bolt of electricity surges, flooding my veins, sharp and instant, just as the first languid notes of Earned It by The Weeknd pulse through the air. He is unshaken, grounding me, as if I belong there—no, as if I must be there with him. He pulls my arm onto the dance floor with a charismatic drawl, his gaze never wavering, never releasing me.
I have, at any point, felt like the only person in a room before. Not like this. Everything around me blurs, the world slipping into slow motion. The music drowns out all other noises, weaving around my senses, intoxicating me. The moment I step into the spotlight at the center of the floor, I feel their eyes—hundred of strangers subtly watching, glancing, whispering.
I am seen. I am alive.
Xan tugs my hand, and in one swift, commanding movement, I crash against his body, our forms molding together as though we were always meant to be one. His hand glides down the curve of my spine, igniting a trail of heat in its wake.
Just as it nears the edge of something forbidden, he stops—hovering, teasing, testing the limits of restraint. The unbearable anticipation coils in my core, leaving me breathless with the unspoken promise lingering between us.
It is almost surreal, watching him move like this, understanding now what had seemed impossible in the library's event. He had told me he was a gentleman, and I had scoffed at the absurdity of the statement. But here, beneath the dim glow of chandeliers and the burn of his presence, I understand the gravity of his words.
A rogue strand of hair falls against my cheek. He brushes it back and leans in, his voice a murmur against my skin.
“Can’t you see how beautiful you are, Mira?” His breath is warm, honeyed, dangerous. “Every look in this room is on you. The women, envious. The men, hungry.”
A flicker of panic sparks in my chest. I look around—he is right. They are watching. Their stares are sharp, dissecting. I tense. My body reacts before my mind does, trying to pull away.
Xan won’t allow it.
His grip tightens—not harsh, but unyielding, as if he is anchoring me, as if he knows I am teetering on the precipice of something vast and consuming. He leans in closer, his cheek brushing mine, his scent wrapping around me like smoke.
“But you know what, little fox?” His voice is softer now, more treacherous in its restraint. “You may not be on my arm tonight, not officially. However, it is clear to everyone in this room right now—you belong to me.”
A breath leaves me, something between surrender and relief. For a fleeting, impossible moment, I exist. Not as a ghost, not as a muted version of myself, but as something vivid, something real. My head feels heavy, my body light, and I fight the urge to rest against the shoulder of his impeccably tailored black suit.
I am hypnotized. Like a serpent lulled into submission by a song only it can hear, I listen. I obey. I yield.
And I hate it. I should hate it. I have to hate it.
But I don’t.
I don’t, because euphoria has already slithered its way into my veins, curling into a dark, primal force.
That is when I see Julian.
Standing at the threshold of the dance floor, his posture stiff, his hands clenched into fists. His frustration ripples through the space, barely contained.
Of course, now he notices me. Now, when another man has stripped me bare without ever touching my skin. Now, when someone else has awakened something in me he never could.
Xan sees it too. He starts laughing—low, quiet, predatory.
“That’s it,” he whispers, watching my eyes focused on Julian’s growing anger. “Show him who you really are, Mira. Show him what he is losing—what he will never have again.”
His fingers press just slightly at my waist, enough to make my pulse stutter.
“Because I won’t let you dance with another man… Ever”
A pause. A promise.
“You belong to me on this dance floor,” he breathes. “And for the rest of our lives.”
As the song fades into silence, the burden of the world crashes down on my shoulders once more. Xan takes my hand, and for a fleeting second, I think he might hold onto it. Instead, he turns, giving it back to Julian. The warmth of his skin vanishes, leaving behind nothing but a hollow ache.
“You should keep her on a leash before one of these men kidnaps her just for himself,” Xan sneers, slipping back into the arrogant, cruel persona he wore so effortlessly earlier.
Julian chuckles, shaking his head.
“She is gorgeous, I’ll give you that. But the second they’ll try living with her, they’ll let her go soon enough.”
Xan muscles constrict, the vein in his neck throbbing. His hands clench at his sides, his jaw locked. He wants to hit him. I can see it. Feel it. Still, he restrains himself, forcing the fire in his veins to smolder instead of erupting.
With a deep breath, he turns away—walking back toward the bar with an air of careless ease, as if none of it ever mattered. As if he doesn’t still crave the feel of me under his hands. I should be relieved that this is over, that I am free from whatever spell I had fallen under. But it does not come as freedom. Just the heavy ache of grief—like something precious has been ripped from me, and I have no choice but to let it go.
Julian’s arm snakes around my waist, pulling me toward him.
“Come,” he says, already lost in his own thoughts. “One of the senior partners wants to talk to me upstairs. This is it.” His voice is brimming with anticipation. “I’m finally getting the offer of being a partner. The others all said they went through the same thing before their promotion. You will wait in a lounge outside his office. Someone will keep you company.”
The girl’s warning echoes in my mind.
Don’t let them get you alone.
Every instinct screams at me to refuse, to make up some excuse, but Julian’s grasp intensifies, daring me to resist. So I climb the stairs, dread curling around my ribs with each step. I barely hear the music anymore; my ears filled with the pounding of my heart. The walls are lined with portraits of men—generations of power and wealth immortalized in gold frames. Their eyes seem to follow me, judging, knowing something that I don’t.
At the top of the staircase, a man greets Julian like an old friend. His boss, I assume. He barely acknowledges me before dragging him away into an adjacent office. I exhale shakily; my nerves frayed and sink into one of the opulent green velvet sofas in the room I waited.
The lounge is extravagant, its decor meant to intimidate, to remind you of your place. The music is still in the background, muffled, but persistent. I close my eyes, trying to breathe through the anxiety brewing in my stomach.
Without notice—icy fingers, firm and possessive, press my exposed thigh. I jolt, a small gasp slipping past my lips.
“Easy now, honey. It’s just me.”
The voice is smooth, a bit familiar. I open my eyes to see the same man Julian had been speaking to earlier, the one who had watched me just a little too closely. I force a weak smile, hoping—praying—that he is just drunk, that this is some terrible misunderstanding. But as I move to stand, his hand slides higher. Before I can react, he grabs my breast, fingers digging in without shame.
“Alright,” I say, forcing steadiness. “Clearly, you’ve had too much champagne. Let me go, or my boyfriend is going to handle this for me.”
He laughs. Low, condescending. Like I just said the most amusing thing in the world.
“Julian?” He smirks. “Sweetheart, he would sell his own mother for this promotion. You? You were just part of the deal!”
Everything stops. I cannot breathe. I cannot think. The world crashes violently as his words settle deep into my bones, poisoning everything I thought I knew. Julian would not…
I try to move, to fight, but my limbs feel heavy, useless. My mind fragments, detaching from my body as his hands continue their invasion. I feel everything and nothing all at once.
I am slipping. Fading. My legs give out beneath me. I am falling. And just as I realize it—just as the darkness swallows me whole—it is already too late.