“Why did you invite me here? It’s such a luxury party,” Elara whispered to Alax, glancing at the crystal chandeliers and perfectly dressed guests.

“You’re my best friend,” Alax replied with a warm smile. “How could I not bring you to my family’s party?”

The event was one of Alex’s father’s grand business gatherings — filled with some of the country’s wealthiest and most influential people.

Elara had put in her best effort. She wore a black gown with a side slit, simple yet stunning. Her heels made her legs look even more graceful, the deep neckline added an understated allure, and her neatly tied bun completed the elegant look. She might not have worn the most expensive dress in the room, but she carried herself with quiet confidence.

“Hi Mom, Dad — this is my friend Elara,” Alax introduced, motioning toward her.

His parents’ eyes swept over Elara, head to toe, a polite smile hiding a subtle judgment. She immediately felt the weight of their silent assessment.

“Hello,” she greeted softly.

“Hello,” they replied in unison, their tone civil but distant. They clearly recognized she didn’t belong to the same social circle.

“Alax, go meet the other guests — you need to build connections,” his father instructed.

“Okay, Dad.”

When his parents moved away, Alax turned back to Elara. “I’m going to say hi to some people. You make yourself comfortable.”

“Don’t leave me alone here,” she murmured, her fingers catching his hand in a faint plea.

He gave her a gentle smile. “Try to understand — it’s my family’s party. I need to greet people, or they’ll think I’m being rude.”

And with that, he slipped away into the crowd.

Elara stood there, surrounded by glittering gowns and crisp tuxedos, yet she had never felt more alone.

Ronan stood a few feet away, half-listening to his father and their friends, when his eyes found her.
 Elara.

The noise of the party dulled in his ears the moment he saw her — alone in the corner, her back straight but her eyes restless. That dress clung to her in ways that made his pulse quicken, the slit teasing every step she shifted. She didn’t belong here, and she knew it. That only made her more captivating.

He watched her for several minutes, his gaze unblinking, drinking her in like a man parched. Then, without a word to anyone, he excused himself and moved toward her — his steps quiet, calculated.

“Hi…” His voice was a low whisper against the shell of her ear.

She startled, spinning slightly, her eyes flicking instinctively toward Alax, who was across the room with two girls draped over him and an older woman laughing at his side.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, turning fully to him.

Ronan’s eyes caught hers and held. He stepped in, closing the space between them until his breath mingled with hers. Just as their noses almost brushed, he tilted toward her ear.
“Feeling jealous?” he murmured.

She shoved him back with a glare. “Who’s jealous?”

His lips curved into a slow, deliberate smirk. “Watching your boyfriend flirt with other girls.”

“You always talk nonsense?” she snapped, turning away, but he didn’t move. His gaze followed her like a predator watching prey, sharp and possessive.

Before she could take another step, a stranger appeared at her side. “Hi, beautiful. Wanna drink with me?” His tone was oily, his hand already reaching toward the bare skin of her back.

But he never made contact. Ronan’s hand shot out, fingers clamping around the man’s wrist mid-air.
 “She has a boyfriend,” Ronan said coldly. And then, with a flick of his chin toward Alax, “Over there.”

Elara’s eyes widened in shock. She grabbed Ronan’s wrist and dragged him out into the corridor, away from the crowd. The noise of the party faded, replaced by the hollow quiet between them.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded.

“What did I do?” he asked, his tone infuriatingly calm.

“Stop spreading rumors!” she hissed. “He’s not my boyfriend — what if he finds out?”

At that, Ronan’s shoulders loosened. His gaze softened for the briefest moment, and then… the corner of his mouth lifted. He bit his lower lip, an expression caught somewhere between amusement and something darker.

She frowned. “Why are you smiling? Did I tell you a joke?”

Without warning, his hand shot out, gripping her waist. He pinned her against the wall, the sudden movement stealing her breath. His head lowered until his forehead touched hers, trapping her in his shadow.

Her heart pounded in her ears. “Ronan… what are you doing?”

His other hand slid to the back of her neck, his thumb brushing the edge of her jaw. His voice was a whisper of danger.
“That means I have a chance.”

“What chance? What are you talking about — let me go.” She pushed at his chest, but his grip only eased after a slow, deliberate moment, his smirk never fading.

She slipped away down the corridor, her steps quick, almost frantic.

And Ronan… Ronan stayed where he was, leaning against the wall, his smile deepening. Because he knew, this wasn’t over.

A few minutes later, Ronan spotted her again — trying to disappear into the crowd, her gaze fixed anywhere but him.
 He didn’t hesitate. He moved toward her with steady, deliberate steps.

“Are you following me around?” she snapped the moment he was close enough.

“Yes,” he replied without pause, his tone sharp, almost mocking. “I am.”

She rolled her eyes and turned away, but he fell into step behind her, unbothered by the icy glare she threw over her shoulder. He knew she felt out of place here — the too-loud laughter, the diamond-drenched stares, the whispers. That knowledge settled like a hook in him, refusing to let go.

Every time someone from his circle called his name, he simply waved a hand without slowing. He didn’t care about them right now. His eyes were only on her.

Finally, she stopped, spinning to face him. “I can’t walk anymore, so stop it now.”

His gaze flicked down to her heels, those ridiculous, thin straps digging into her skin. Without a word, he reached for her wrist. She stiffened, but he didn’t slow — pulling her with him until they were in a shadowed corner where a plush sofa sat away from prying eyes.

“Sit,” he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. She opened her mouth to protest, but he was already kneeling in front of her.

Her breath caught. “What are you doing?”

Ignoring her question, his hands closed around her ankle, steady but firm. In one smooth motion, he slipped off her heel. Then the other.

“Look at your feet,” he muttered, his thumb brushing lightly against the angry red marks etched into her skin. His touch was warm, almost gentle, but there was something unyielding in the way he held her — as though he was claiming the right to care for her, whether she wanted it or not.

She glanced down and saw the raw indentations, her chest tightening despite herself.

“Wait for me,” Ronan said suddenly, rising to his feet. His tone made it sound less like a request and more like a command.

Before she could respond, he was gone — vanishing back into the crowd, leaving her barefoot, confused, and far too aware of the ghost of his touch on her skin.

When Ronan stepped back into the party, a sleek black shoebox in hand, his gaze went straight to her.

Elara.

she sat on one of the velvet chairs near the corner, her legs crossed, and right beside her was Alax. His head tilted toward her, his attention completely fixed on her feet. She was wearing comfortable slippers now — soft, simple — nothing like the heels that had been digging into her skin earlier.

Maybe Alax had given them to her.

Something in Ronan’s chest tightened, sharp and cold. From across the room, his eyes locked on the scene, and there was no mistaking the look that settled over his face. Jealousy — raw, unfiltered, and edged with something darker.

It wasn’t just the slippers. It was the way Elara was looking at Alax — soft, almost glowing. It was the quiet curve of her lips, the unguarded warmth in her eyes. It was the way Alax smiled back at her, like she was his and had always been his.

Ronan’s fingers flexed around the shoebox.

She’s mine.

The thought pulsed through him like a warning, but the longer he stood there, the more it burned. Every second that passed, every glance they exchanged, felt like someone was reaching into his chest and twisting.

Without a word, he turned on his heel.

He didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t offer excuses. He just walked out of the party, his steps quick, decisive.

Because one thing was certain — he couldn’t stand the sight of her looking at another man like that.