ALEXANDER'S PENTHOUSE 

The ride back to his penthouse was suffocating. Alexander sat at the back of the car, his tie loosened, jaw clenched tight. The taste of expensive wine from the dinner still lingered, bitter on his tongue, though it wasn't the wine that had left that taste, it was the night itself. 

Avery Thompson had been exactly what his father wanted in a wife for him. Elegant, composed, soft-spoken, a woman who knew how to sit still and smile without giving too much away. She had been polite, patient even when he had shown up late, but every moment had felt like a chain tightening around his neck.

The city lights blurred past his window. His thoughts burned in a loop. The inheritance. His father's threats. Ethan waiting in the wings, ready to be crowned if Alexander slipped. And then there was Luna. His Luna. The only piece of his life that ever felt like it was truly his, not something dictated by Harrison Grey's iron hand.

When he finally reached the penthouse, he pushed open the door with more force than necessary. The silence that greeted him was broken only by the faint jazz humming from the speakers in the living room. Then, a familiar voice.

"You're late," Luna said softly.

She was sitting curled up on the sofa, her long dark hair spilling over her shoulders, dressed in one of his shirts, now looking like it belonged to her. The sight of her nearly undid him.

Alexander let out a breath and pulled at his tie, tossing it carelessly onto a chair. "I didn't think you'd wait up."

Her eyes followed him as he walked toward her, sharp but filled with something gentler underneath. "Of course I waited. I wanted to know how it went. Did they like you?"

A cruel irony tugged at his lips. "Like me? That was never the problem, Luna. They already like her."

Her brow creased. "Her?"

Alexander froze, realizing he had come dangerously close to spilling what he wasn't ready for her to know. He couldn't. Not tonight. The conversation with his father replayed in his head. He couldn't bear Luna's reaction if she knew.

He crossed to the sofa, lowering himself beside her. "Nothing important," he muttered, brushing it aside. "Just family politics."

She reached out, her hand brushing over his chest, fingers lingering like she could feel the storm brewing inside him. "You're lying. I can tell."

He caught her hand, pressing it flat against his chest, over his heart. "Then feel this. It's beating because of you. Whatever happened tonight, whatever my father tries to force down my throat, none of it changes what I feel for you."

Her lips parted, and for a moment, she just stared at him like she was trying to believe every word. Then she leaned in, her voice a whisper. "Show me, Alex. Don't just tell me."

It wasn't a request. It was a challenge, a demand, the kind only Luna could make.

She shifted, straddling his lap, her thighs pressing against his hips. He felt the world tilt, the suffocating weight of the dinner, his father's threats, Avery's calm smile, all of it dissolved the moment Luna's mouth claimed his.

Her kiss was fire. Desperate, hungry, pulling the anger and frustration right out of him. His hands gripped her waist, sliding under the silk shirt that barely covered her, and he realized she wasn't wearing anything underneath. That knowledge snapped something inside him.

He deepened the kiss, biting her lower lip until she gasped, then trailing down her neck, tasting the soft curve of her skin. Luna arched into him, tugging at his shirt, impatient, wanting him bare.

"Alex," she whispered against his ear, her voice trembling but insistent. "Don't think tonight. Don't talk. Just... be with me."

And so he was.

The clothes came off in a blur, as he carried her towards the bedroom, while they kissed like they were desperate for something. He dropped her roughly on the bed and stood tall and mighty. 

"I love when you're rough." Luna's voice was seductive. 

Alexander stood naked in his glory, his dick sprang hard and long, as he climbed the bed and trapped her beneath him.

"I love you Luna, so very much." With that said, he claimed her lips again and thrust inside her slowly. They both moan in unison as they could feel the pleasure inside them. 

Alexander increased his speed, as he was thrusting inside her like a maniac. He couldn't get enough of her. Right now he remembers nothing except the woman lying beneath him as he takes her roughly.

"I'm going to c..cum.. Alex.." Luna stuttered, while she arched into him. She could feel the pleasure twisting in her stomach and then she came with her eyes rolling to the back. 

Alexander's groan could be heard as he continue thrusting into her, increasing his pace every seconds. He doesn't want this to end. 

"Fuckkk!" Alexander exclaimed while removing his dick from her pussy with his cum all over her lower belly.

********

When it was over, they lay tangled together, her head resting on his chest, his hand brushing lazily along her spine. His breathing was still rough, his thoughts anything but calm.

Alexander closed his eyes, pressing a kiss to her hair. "I promise, Luna. I'll make them accept us. I'll make them see you the way I do."

But even as he said it, a part of him feared it was a promise he couldn't keep.

The next morning, sunlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse. Alexander stood in the kitchen, nursing a cup of black coffee, his mind still restless from the night before.

His phone buzzed, and Liam Reynolds' name lit up the screen. Alexander answered with a sigh.

"Morning, Reynolds," he muttered.

"You sound like hell," Liam's voice came smooth, amused, with that signature charm that made him the king of entertainment media. "Don't tell me last night's dinner was that bad."

Alexander sank onto a stool. "It was worse."

"Worse?" Liam prodded. "Come on, Alex, give me something. Did she bore you to death? Did she laugh like a donkey? What?"

Alexander ran a hand through his hair. "She was... fine. More than fine. Perfect, even. Which is the problem. She's exactly the kind of woman my father wants for me. Calm, collected, polite. The kind of wife who won't fight back."

Liam whistled low. "Ah. So, she's the anti-Luna."

The name alone made Alexander tense. He glanced toward the bedroom, where Luna was still asleep. "Don't start."

"I'm not starting. I'm reminding you. You already know what your heart wants, Alex. The question is, are you willing to your future for her?"

Alexander's silence stretched too long.

Liam's voice softened. "You can't live both lives, my friend. At some point, you'll have to choose. Just remember, the company isn't love. Luna is."

Before Alexander could respond, his phone beeped with another incoming call. Harrison Grey.

Alexander's gut tightened. "I'll call you back," he said quickly, cutting Liam off before switching lines.

"Father."

Harrison's voice came through sharp, commanding. "The date has been decided. The engagement will be announced at the party next week. Be ready."

Alexander shot to his feet, fury slamming into him like a fist. "What? Without telling me? Without even asking me?"

"There was nothing to ask," Harrison replied coolly. "It's done. The board expects it. The family expects it. And so will you."

"No," Alexander growled. "I will not be paraded like a pawn in your game. You don't decide my life without me."

"You want the inheritance? Then you'll do as you're told. Or else Ethan will."

The line went dead.

Alexander stood in the middle of his penthouse, his chest heaving, his fist tightening around the phone until he thought it might shatter. Next week. A week. His entire future being tied in chains, and he hadn't even had the chance to fight back.

For the first time, fear cut deeper than anger. Because now, Luna's face, her trust, her love, they all felt like they were hanging by a thread, and the scissors were in his father's hands.

THOMPSON'S PHARMACEUTICAL INDUSTRY 

Avery Thompson stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of her office, the city skyline stretched before her like a sea of lights, indifferent to the turmoil within her. Her thoughts drifted back to dinner with Alexander Grey the night before the polite smiles, the calculated conversation, the heavy expectation beneath every word. She felt trapped between duty and desire, between the life laid out for her and the life she longed to claim for herself.

A knock at the door pulled her from her reverie.

"Come in," she called, straightening her posture.

Elena, her secretary, entered gracefully. "The chairman wants to see you in his office," she said.

Avery exhaled softly, already knowing what awaited her. She walked toward her father's office, heels clicking deliberately on the marble floor, a rhythmic echo of the inevitability she felt pressing down on her. Elena followed silently, and as they approached the door, Avery gave a brief nod to the secretary standing guard outside. A crisp knock, a polite announcement, and then:

"Come in," her father's voice commanded from within.

The office exuded power. Sleek, modern furnishings contrasted with the weight of tradition carried by the numerous awards and framed certificates on the walls. A large wooden desk dominated the space, polished to a shine, with a leather chair sitting poised behind it. A nameplate gleamed in bold silver letters: Reginald Thompson, Chairman of Thompson Pharmaceuticals Industry.

Avery stepped in, and her eyes immediately found her father. Reginald looked up from his papers, piercing eyes fixed on her like twin searchlights. Avery felt a flicker of something in her chest, a mix of apprehension, respect, and defiance.

"Avery," he said, his voice smooth but commanding. "Sit down."

She lowered herself into the chair opposite him, maintaining her composure even as her mind raced. She knew what this conversation would be about: Alexander Grey, the marriage alliance, and the future that had already been decided for her.

Reginald leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. "So, Avery," he began, deliberate and measured, "how was dinner with Alexander last night?"

"Fine, Father," Avery replied, steady. "We discussed the terms of the marriage... and everything else."

Reginald's expression turned stern, the edges of his authority sharpening. "This marriage," he said, each word deliberate, "means more than you can understand right now. It is a union of influence, legacy, and power. You must play your part well. In a few weeks, you will no longer be a Thompson, Avery, but a Grey. That name carries weight. It demands respect, obedience, and loyalty."

Avery met his gaze, her voice calm, controlled, yet inwardly, her chest tightened. "Yes, Father. I understand what you're saying."

Inside, her thoughts were anything but controlled. She didn't want this life. She didn't want Alexander Grey, his presence, his expectations, his name bound to hers. She wanted freedom, the ability to make her own choices without the heavy burden of legacy pressing down on her shoulders. But she knew she had no real choice. Her father's expectations, the family's company, their carefully built empire all depended on her compliance.

Her father's hand rested on the desk, a subtle but undeniable assertion of authority. "Avery," he continued, his tone softening only slightly, "I know this is difficult. I know your heart may ache at the thought of sacrifice. But the family, the company, the legacy... it all rests on you now. You must be strong. You must be focused. And you must be strategic. Your strength is measured not in what you desire, but in what you endure."

Avery exhaled quietly, hiding the storm inside her behind her composed exterior. She would do what was expected, she had no choice, but a spark of rebellion flared within her, private and unyielding. She would play the role assigned to her, yes, but she would not surrender her spirit entirely.

Reginald leaned back, satisfied with her outward obedience. "Good," he said, voice regaining its firm edge. "Remember, Avery, the weight you carry is heavier than any desire. It is heavier than love. But it is yours to bear."

Avery rose gracefully, every movement precise, elegant, and controlled. "I will, Father," she said, even as her mind seethed with defiance.

As she left the office, the city lights blurred around her, a reminder that the world moved on while she stood on the threshold of a life that wasn't truly hers. I will do this, she thought, but on her own terms, in her own way. Alexander Grey may take her name, but not her will.

ALEXANDER'S PENTHOUSE 

Alexander had barely slept. He had tossed between silk sheets, restless with everything going on. He wanted peace, just a little silence in his life but peace wasn't something a Grey ever got. Not when the family name was plastered across every news headline in the country.

By the time his phone began vibrating endlessly on the nightstand, he knew something had cracked wide open.

He groaned, dragging the phone into his hand, squinting at the glowing screen. Dozens of notifications lit up at once: stock updates, gossip alerts, Twitter tags, messages from Harrison's assistant, even emails from reporters he'd never heard of. One headline caught his eye, bold and impossible to ignore:

"Merger in the Making? Grey Conglomerate and Thompson Pharmaceuticals Tied Through Possible Union."

Alexander sat up, his heart slamming against his ribs. His breath caught as he scrolled. Every site, every business column, every gossip blog they were all saying the same thing. That the merger wasn't just a business deal. That it was about an arranged marriage. His name and Avery Thompson's name trended side by side, hashtags multiplying by the second.

#GreyAndThompson

#AlexanderAndAvery

#MarriageOfEmpires

A sick heat flushed through his chest. This wasn't supposed to get out. The families hadn't even finalized the date, and yet the world was already chewing it up, spitting it out, making it fact before he'd had a chance to breathe.

His pulse spiked as his phone rang. Harrison. He didn't answer. He couldn't not yet. His father's voice would only grind his nerves raw. Instead, he threw on a shirt and stalked toward the penthouse balcony, gripping the railing until his knuckles turned white.

From fifty stories up, the city looked small, manageable. But inside him, chaos screamed. The thought of Luna seeing this, of her believing it, made him sick.

And just as he thought it, fate made sure the nightmare came true.

LUNA'S APARTMENT 

Luna Wells wasn't a woman who woke up early without reason. But this morning, she didn't need coffee or sunlight to yank her out of bed. She needed only Ruby Singh, her best friend and the human equivalent of a hurricane, barging into her loft with the kind of energy only Ruby could carry.

"Babe, you need to sit down. Right now." Ruby's voice was sharp, her phone already outstretched in her hand like it was a weapon. Her auburn curls bounced as she paced the living room, her oversized sunglasses pushed onto her head, a model-off-duty look perfected without effort.

Luna, still in one of Alexander's shirts from the night before, frowned as she rubbed her eyes. "Ruby, it's barely eight. What the hell is-"

"Sit. Down."

Something in Ruby's tone made her obey. The phone was thrust into her hands, and when Luna's gaze landed on the glowing headline, her stomach dropped.

Alexander Grey. Avery Thompson. 

Marriage. Merger.

It was everywhere. Luna scrolled through pages of speculation, each headline sharper than the last. Photos of Alexander and Avery at the dinner last night flooded her feed with two heirs standing side by side, smiling tightly for the cameras. The captions weren't kind.

"Power couple in the making?"

"The Greys and Thompsons join forces through marriage vows?"

"Move aside, models and starlets. Avery Thompson is the future Mrs. Grey."

Her fingers went numb. Her throat closed. She heard Ruby's voice, but it sounded far away.

"See? I told you. Men like him don't play fair. He's hiding things from you, Luna. Big things. You've been sneaking around like it's just some fling, but look at this. He's promised to someone else. And not just anyone, Avery freaking Thompson."

Luna's breath came in shallow gasps. She shook her head, clutching the phone tighter, as if pressing it harder would erase the words.

"No. He would've told me. He-he wouldn't lie to me like this."

Ruby crouched in front of her, placing a hand on her knee. Her tone softened, though her eyes stayed fierce. "Sweetheart, I love you. But you've got to wake up. These families don't think like us. To them, marriage isn't about love, it's about money, power, control. You're not in their world. And I don't want you shattered when reality hits."

The words sliced through her chest.

***********

By the time Alexander returned to the penthouse that evening, Luna was waiting. The lights were low, her figure a shadow against the window. He froze at the sight of her, something in his chest tightening. He'd been dreading this all day.

"Luna," he breathed, setting his briefcase aside.

She turned, phone still clutched in her hand, eyes blazing with fury and pain. "So it's true."

He cursed under his breath. "You saw."

"I saw? Everyone saw, Alexander! The whole damn world knows before I do. Before you even thought to tell me." Her voice cracked, but her anger was sharp enough to mask it.

He stepped closer, palms raised. "It's not what you think. I was going to tell you. I just-"

"Just what? Forgot? Or maybe you planned to keep me in the dark while you played perfect heir with Avery Thompson? God, Alexander, I feel so stupid."

Her words cut deeper than any headline could. He moved to touch her, but she stepped back, shaking her head violently.

"I gave you everything. My trust. My heart. And you couldn't give me the truth."

"Luna." His voice broke as he reached for her again. This time she didn't pull away fast enough, and his hands framed her face, thumbs brushing her tears. "Listen to me. You're the one I love. You're the one I want. This-this marriage talk, it's my family. Their world. Their chains. Not mine."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I was scared." The confession ripped from him, raw and desperate. "Scared you'd leave. Scared you'd look at me the way you're looking at me now."

For a heartbeat, her expression wavered. He pressed on, his forehead against hers, his voice trembling.

"I've never begged for anyone in my life, Luna. Not once. But I'm begging you now. Don't believe them. Believe me. I can fight this. For us. Just-just don't walk away."

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her tears soaking his fingers. For a moment, it seemed she might crumble into his arms. But then she shoved him back, hard enough that his grip slipped.

"You should've trusted me first."

And before he could stop her, before he could think of the right words, she was gone.

The door slammed, echoing through the penthouse like a gunshot.

Alexander stood frozen, his hands shaking, his chest hollow. For the first time in years, he felt powerless. The empire could burn, the world could fall, and none of it would hurt as much as watching her walk away.

LANGFORD HALL 

The night belonged to New York's elite. A golden glow spilled from the massive glass doors of The Langford Hall, an exclusive event center dressed in extravagance for the evening. Outside, the world turned chaotic. Paparazzi clustered along velvet ropes, their cameras snapping furiously as luxury cars slid up one after the other. The street outside pulsed with flashes of light, shouted questions, and the roar of anticipation.

It wasn't just another society wedding announcement. This was history being written of the engagement of two dynasties. Grey Conglomerate, the empire of finance and steel, and Thompson Pharmaceuticals, the iron grip of medicine and research. Together, they weren't just families. They were the foundation of New York's power.

"Smile, Mr. Grey! One picture, Alexander! Over here!" the reporters yelled, shoving microphones forward.

The door of a sleek black Bentley opened, and Alexander Grey emerged. Tailored in a deep charcoal tuxedo that fit him like armor, he stepped into the sea of flashes with the stillness of a man who had lived his entire life under scrutiny. His jaw was sharp, his expression carved from stone. He gave them nothing.

The questions sliced through the night air-

"Alexander, how does it feel to finally settle down?"

"Is it love or business?"

"Will Avery Thompson continue her career, or will she join the Grey family empire?"

"What about Luna Wells?"

Alexander didn't flinch. His dark eyes scanned the crowd, cold and unyielding. For the photographers, he gave only the faintest tilt of his head, enough to feed their cameras, but inside, silence pressed against him. A silence that belonged to the absence of one woman.

It had been a week since he last saw Luna. A week since she'd walked away, since she cut him off completely. No calls returned. No messages answered. He had tried everything, direct lines, mutual friends, even reaching out through Ruby, and still, nothing. She had shut him out, and the reality clawed at him.

But tonight wasn't about Luna. Tonight was about Avery. About duty. About Harrison Grey's iron will.

"Alexander," his father's voice cut through the haze as Harrison joined him at the entrance. The patriarch stood tall, silver hair gleaming, his tuxedo commanding respect. "Remember. Appearances. Tonight, there can be no mistakes."

Alexander gave a brief nod, tightening his jaw. Mistakes. As if his very existence wasn't already a mistake in his father's eyes.

Then the crowd roared again, a fresh wave of flashes blinding him. Avery had arrived.

A glossy Rolls-Royce came to a stop, and the Thompsons emerged like royalty. Reginald Thompson, tall and broad-shouldered, adjusted his cufflinks with the arrogance of a man who believed the world bent for him. Beside him, Catherine descended with practiced elegance, her diamonds flashing beneath the lights. And then came Avery.

The photographers erupted.

The young heiress glided onto the carpet in a gown of silver silk that clung to her frame like water, her golden hair swept into a chignon that gleamed under the bulbs. On her lips sat the perfect smile, the kind rehearsed in mirrors since childhood. To the world, she was radiant, flawless, enviable. But her eyes told a different story, one of weight, of a quiet submission to duty.

Reginald bent close, his hand pressing against her back as he steered her forward. "Remember why you're here," he murmured. "This isn't about you. This is about legacy."

"Yes, Father," Avery answered softly, her voice carrying no fight, only obedience.

Inside, the ballroom awaited, already swelling with power. Chandeliers glittered like stars above tables draped in white linen and gold accents. Champagne towers sparkled, a string quartet played faintly in the corner, and the air buzzed with gossip. Titans of business, old money aristocrats, celebrities, and politicians all mingled, their conversations stitched with greed and ambition.

At the center of it all, Alexander and Avery were formally introduced. Cameras flashed once more as they stood side by side on the marble staircase, the perfect couple carved from wealth and expectation. Alexander's hand rested on her waist firm, cold, distant.

"They look beautiful together," someone whispered.

"Yes, but do you see how stiff he is? That boy isn't in love," another replied.

The whispers slid through the air like smoke, but Alexander heard none of it. His gaze roamed the ballroom, restless, searching for a ghost that wasn't there.

"Alexander," Avery whispered as they descended the stairs together, her voice hesitant. "Are you... are you all right?"

His eyes flicked to her briefly. "I'm fine," he said curtly, though the word felt hollow.

Her smile trembled but didn't falter. She'd been raised to withstand disappointment. 

The orchestra swelled, the celebration deepened, champagne poured endlessly. Toasts were made, hands were shaken, deals were whispered in the corners. For the public, it was perfection. For Alexander, it was suffocation.

And then, the air shifted.

The double doors at the far end opened again, and the ballroom gasped. Paparazzi outside screamed her name before the doors closed behind her.

Luna Wells had arrived.

She stepped into the room like a flame in the darkness, her black satin gown hugging her figure with lethal elegance, her dark hair cascading in loose waves. She didn't need jewels. She didn't need introduction. Her presence alone stole the breath from the room.

At her side was Ruby Singh, wrapped in scarlet, whispering with a mischievous smirk as though daring Luna forward. The crowd parted instinctively, whispers sparking like fire.

"Isn't that Luna Wells?"

"The artist? What's she doing here?"

"Doesn't she have history with Alexander Grey?"

"God, look at Avery. Poor girl."

Avery stiffened across the room, her knuckles whitening around her champagne flute. Reginald's jaw clenched, his glare slicing toward Alexander with silent fury. Catherine muttered something under her breath, pulling her daughter closer as though shielding her from scandal.

Harrison Grey moved in swiftly, his voice a sharp hiss as he gripped Alexander's arm. "Control this. Do you hear me? End it before it becomes a disaster."

But Alexander couldn't move. His eyes had already found her across the glittering ballroom, through the haze of light and music and whispers, he locked on Luna.

And she locked on him.

The noise drowned out, everything faded, the champagne and laughter vanished. All that remained was the storm in their gaze. Her eyes burned with hurt, defiance, and something that cut deeper than hatred. His carried the weight of longing, regret, and a love that refused to die no matter how much chains were wrapped around it.

The room spun with gossip, cameras subtly lifted again, hungry for that shot.

The host of the night, a smooth-voiced master of ceremonies, stepped into the spotlight. "Ladies and gentlemen," he boomed, laughter cutting into the hum of chatter, "please, let us take our seats as we welcome the latest couple in town, Mr. Alexander Grey and Miss Avery Thompson!"

Applause thundered across the ballroom, cutting their gaze like a blade. Guests turned toward the stage, champagne glasses raised high, cheers bouncing off the gold-trimmed ceiling. The illusion of perfection began.

Avery moved gracefully, poised in her blush-toned gown, diamonds dripping like liquid fire at her neck. She was beautiful, unshakably so, but Alexander's hand in hers was stiff, cold. He sat beside her because the script demanded it, but his mind was ten steps away, burning on the image of the woman who had walked in uninvited and stolen every ounce of oxygen from the room.

The host carried on, his voice smooth and celebratory. "We are gathered here today to witness the union of two dynasties that will redefine the very fabric of business and society in our great city. Tonight, we celebrate not just love, but power, partnership, and the future."

More applause. Toasts clinked. Then came the engagement rings, displayed on a silver tray carried by a girl in pearls. Avery smiled softly, slipping the diamond onto her finger with practiced elegance, while Alexander did the same with a face carved from marble. Cameras flashed. Socialites whispered.

But his eyes.....God, his eyes never left Luna.

She sat perfectly still, her glass in hand, her gaze fixed anywhere but him. Her stillness was louder than any scream.

The fathers were called up next. Reginald Thompson rose first, his pride stitched into every wrinkle of his face. "My daughter," he began, his voice booming, "is not only the jewel of our family but the future of our empire. With her union to the Grey dynasty, our companies will set a new standard. One of dominance, resilience, and unmatched vision."

The crowd laughed at his little quips, applauded at his grand gestures.

Luna's phone had already buzzed under the table. She retrieved it, her heart gave a small, treacherous lurch.

Alexander: What are you doing here? You're only adding more fire. I miss you. Come to my penthouse after this is over.

She read it once. Twice. Then slipped the phone back into her clutch without so much as a twitch of expression.

Across the room, Alexander stared like a man waiting for a verdict. Her silence cut deeper than a blade. She hadn't even acknowledged him. His jaw locked. His fist curled against his thigh, knuckles white. He wanted to cross the damn ballroom, rip her out of that chair, demand she look at him, answer him. But he couldn't. Not here.

Harrison Grey took the stage then, his presence commanding immediate silence. "My son," he said, voice weighted with authority, "is the embodiment of strength, vision, and leadership. With Avery by his side, he will take our conglomerate into a new era. One that ensures the Grey legacy remains unshakable for generations. Together, these families will hold a power no one can challenge."

More applause. More polite laughter. More toasts. Alexander heard none of it. His eyes were tethered to Luna, every second of her indifference unraveling him further.

Then the music shifted. The host's voice cut through again. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, it is time for our couple's first dance. Please welcome Alexander Grey and Avery Thompson to the floor!"

Avery rose, smiling, sliding her hand into his. Alexander's body moved on autopilot, leading her to the center of the dance floor as every guest turned their gaze to them. Cameras clicked like gunfire.

Their bodies aligned, and they swayed to the rhythm. From the outside, it was picture-perfect: the powerful heir and his beautiful bride-to-be, gliding under chandeliers like a fairy tale. But inside the frame, the cracks showed.

"You're stiff," Avery murmured with a practiced smile, tilting her head up to him. "At least pretend to enjoy this."

His jaw flexed. "Pretending is all I'm doing tonight."

Her eyes flickered, but she didn't break her façade. "Then you'd better be convincing. Everyone is watching."

"Everyone but the one that matters," he muttered low, his eyes darting once more to the woman who sat like a ghost in silk at the edge of the room.

Luna.

And for a moment too long, Avery followed his gaze.

The song carried them in circles, the ballroom watching with admiration, envy, hunger. To them, it was perfection unfolding. To Alexander, it was torture and a performance he had no choice but to play, while the only woman who could unravel him sat just out of reach, refusing him even a glance.

And as the dance ended, the applause swallowed them whole.

But Alexander's clenched fists and Luna's unreadable face promised the storm was only beginning.