The gown fit like it was poured over her skin.
Aria stood in the full-length mirror of the guest suite inside the Blackwood International Events Tower, her breath catching at the sight of herself. The dress Dominic had arranged—a black satin number with a thigh-high slit and plunging neckline—was unlike anything she'd ever worn. Bold. Sophisticated. Dangerous.
Exactly how she felt.
A knock on the door drew her attention.
"Come in," she called, adjusting the diamond studs clipped to her ears.
The door eased open, and Dominic stepped inside.
And for a moment, the world... paused.
He wore a tuxedo that looked like it had been stitched onto him by angels. Black, crisp, tailored to perfection. No tie—just a few undone buttons at the collar and an air of unapologetic dominance.
His eyes swept over her.
"You clean up well," he said, voice husky.
"I wasn't sure you'd approve," Aria replied, straightening.
"I picked it," he murmured, "but I didn't expect it to look like that on you."
Heat flushed her cheeks, but she didn't look away.
"You ready?" he asked.
She nodded. "Let's do this."
The gala was a swirl of chandeliers, champagne, and silk.
The ballroom pulsed with the quiet tension of money. Powerful men with silver hair. Women in diamonds. Politicians and CEOs. Every guest worth more than the country of Belize.
Dominic walked beside her, hand resting lightly at her lower back, the contact subtle but commanding. It was an illusion of intimacy—one designed to impress and disarm.
To them, she was just another perfectly sculpted woman on the arm of a ruthless billionaire.
To Aria… it felt like walking a tightrope strung over a pit of fire.
They made rounds.
Introductions.
Dominic was polite but sharp, shaking hands, exchanging small talk in five languages. He never let go of her completely.
It was calculated.
Controlled.
But behind the performance, Aria sensed something else—something unspoken simmering just beneath the surface.
Halfway through the evening, they found a quiet balcony tucked behind a velvet curtain. Aria leaned on the railing, finally able to breathe.
Dominic joined her.
"You did well," he said.
"I didn't trip or insult anyone. So I'll take that as a win."
He chuckled.
Aria turned to him. "Is this what you do every weekend? Pretend to care about power brokers and phonies while drinking overpriced wine?"
"More or less."
She studied him. "Do you like any of it?"
He looked out over the city lights, jaw clenched.
"I like control," he said. "And this... keeps things in place."
"What happens if something falls out of place?"
His eyes flicked to hers. "Then I deal with it."
Their gazes locked.
The air shifted.
Thickened.
"I'm not part of your plan, am I?" she asked softly.
He stepped closer. "No."
"Then why me?"
"I don't know yet," Dominic admitted, voice raw. "But I know you're going to be a problem."
Her heart pounded. "Then fire me."
"I should."
"Then why don't you?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he reached out and brushed a loose curl from her cheek.
"I said no romance," he whispered.
"You wrote it," she replied.
"I meant it."
"Then stop touching me."
His hand dropped to his side, but his eyes didn't leave hers.
She turned back to the railing, trying to catch her breath.
"I'm not afraid of you, Dominic."
"I know."
"That's what scares you, isn't it?"
He didn't reply.
The ride home was silent. Tense. Every inch between them in the backseat of the black sedan felt like a thousand.
When they arrived at her apartment building, she turned to him.
"Thank you," she said, voice even.
"For what?"
"For letting me see behind the mask tonight."
Dominic leaned in, stopping just short of kissing her.
"I didn't," he whispered.
And then he opened her door and helped her out without another word.