"Who is that?" Anne whispered, eyes wide as she leaned closer to Sofia. "He's insanely hot. I swear, he's the most attractive guy here, and he was staring at you."
Sofia tried to laugh it off, but her throat was dry. Her heart hadn't stopped racing since the moment their eyes locked. It felt like she'd just lost a staring contest with a man who belonged in a different universe, a dangerous one.
"Just look at him," Elise added, subtly nodding in his direction. "He belongs here. Perfect suit, perfect hair, perfect arrogance. I'd bet anything he's a regular. And is he a regular at LUXE? That means elite as in—old-money, private-jet, born with a silver spoon in his mouth.
Sofia just nodded, lips pressed together, still trying to quiet the chaos inside her chest. She had barely recovered from John—her so-called loving boyfriend who betrayed her in the most humiliating way possible.
And yet, even in her most honest moments with John, she never felt anything like that magnetic pull from across the room.
"Do you want to bet?" Elise suddenly asked, her grin widening with mischief.
"Bet on what?" Anne replied, narrowing her eyes as she took another sip of her drink.
"I bet Sofia could seduce that man—and he'd take her home with him tonight," Elise said with confidence.
"No way," Anne snorted. "She'd never do that. Don't forget, she got cheated by her long-time boyfriend because she's different. She's not like us, remember?"
"She's been saving herself since we were what—ten?" Anne continued, now fully on a roll. "It was always her vow. No sex until marriage. Her 'gift to her future husband.'"
Sofia narrowed her eyes at both of them but said nothing. Her friends were talking about her seducing a stranger like it was a game. She knew they weren't trying to hurt her. They were just being themselves. Still, it stung.
Sofia looked away, pretending to focus on the rim of her glass, the burn in her throat suddenly having nothing to do with alcohol.
"And where did that get her?" Elise countered sharply.
"Look at her now—our best friend is brokenhearted, humiliated, dumped by a man who couldn't even wait for what was already his. She kept her promise... and he still betrayed her."
"John's a jerk," Anne muttered.
"Then let's stop talking about him," Elise said quickly. "Let's talk about that man over there—tall, cold, and devastatingly hot. The one who's looking at our friend like she's the only one in the room."
Sofia shook her head, finally speaking. "Maybe he's just looking at us because we're out of place."
She glanced around the room. "Look at these people. Everything they're wearing probably costs more than our monthly salary combined."
Her voice was calm but honest.
"We don't belong here."
"Yeah, maybe we don't belong," Elise said, her voice softer but firm. "But this is just one night. And you deserve this, Sofia."
She turned fully toward her, eyes serious now. "I've told you a million times that you are beautiful. You could have any man in this room, in this city, wherever you go. And tonight, you're going to prove it."
Sofia shook her head, a weak laugh escaping her lips, but Elise wasn't done.
"All you need to do is flirt. That's it. You don't need to sleep with him. You don't even have to kiss him. Just let him take you out of here, and let him want you. Then you leave. Walk away. You don't owe him anything."
Sofia stared into her glass, fingers trembling slightly.
And then Elise added the line that hit her like a slap wrapped in kindness.
"If you dare to flirt with him, you can stay at my place. For free. As long as you want. After the bank takes the house..."
The words hit her like a punch in her gut. It was heavy and suffocating. Sofia's face fell. The reminder was too much.
Elise immediately winced. "I'm sorry, Sofia. I didn't mean—"
But Sofia didn't let her friend finish. She stood without a word, her chair scraping softly against the floor.
Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her feet moved on instinct.
Before she could second-guess herself, she was walking—straight across the room—toward the man whose eyes had not left her for more than a moment.
She didn't know what she was doing, and she didn't have a plan. Her mind screamed at her to stop. To turn around, and remember who she was.
But something in her had snapped. Maybe it was Elise's offer.
Or it was the pain of losing the only thing she had left. Or it was Carla's voice echoing in her head like poison:
"You're a prude. You'll never be happy."
Sofia clenched her fists as she lifted her chin, spine straightening, every step deliberate now.
If the world was going to break her, she'd at least walk into the fire with her head high, and she would experience how to love like her friends, free of worries and living in the moment.
Her legs trembled beneath her dress as she stood in front of him—closer now than she'd ever imagined.
Up close, he was even more devastating. His presence radiated quiet danger, and his gaze—cool, sharp, utterly unreadable—pinned her in place.
She opened her mouth, not quite sure what would come out, and then... it happened.
"Would you dance with me?"
The words slipped out, light and breathy, and the second they did, she almost laughed at herself.
What the hell am I doing?
He didn't answer at first. Just looked at her.
A smirk curled at the edge of his mouth—slow, knowing, infuriating.
But he didn't move. Didn't speak.
Sofia felt her face heat, suddenly hyper-aware of how foolish she must look—standing there, asking a man like him to dance, while he towered over her like a king deciding if a peasant was worth his time.
Behind him, his friend—dark-haired, sharply dressed—watched with a mix of disbelief and amusement, as if Sofia had just pulled off something bold enough to be entertaining.
Finally, the man in front of her spoke, his voice smooth and low, like velvet over ice.
"Why should I dance with you?"
Damn. Even his voice made her insides twist.
It was deep and magnetic, with the kind of confidence that wasn't loud—it simply existed. Demanded attention. Commanded it.
And those eyes...
They looked at her like he was trying to unravel her layer by layer—slowly, deliberately, like she was a puzzle he intended to solve.
Sofia swallowed, forcing herself to stay steady even as her heart raced like she'd been sprinting through a storm.
"To enjoy the night," she replied with a soft laugh, flipping her hair back with more confidence than she felt. "To get a little loose. Isn't that what people come here for?"
He didn't smile. Not really.
But his gaze swept over her—once, twice—and lingered just long enough to make her breath catch.
And for the first time that night, he looked intrigued.
"What if I said no?" he asked, his voice low, rough around the edges—yet his expression remained maddeningly unreadable, the faintest smirk still playing at the corner of his lips.
Sofia didn't flinch. Didn't miss a beat.
Instead, she tilted her head, her lips curving into a slow, wicked smile—the kind that made men forget their names.
"Then I'd find someone else," she said softly. "Someone who'd dance with me... and maybe spend the night with me after."
The words hung in the air like smoke.
Her tone was teasing, playful—but it dripped with challenge. Seduction. Power.
And just like that, something flickered behind Adam's eyes.
A crack in the ice.
His throat went dry, and for the first time in a long time, he had no words.
She turned then—slow, deliberate—and looked at Tristan.
"Do you want to—" But Sofia never finished her sentence because Adam moved.
In one swift, instinctive motion, his hand slid around her waist, pulling her firmly back to face him. His grip was possessive but controlled—like he hadn't decided whether to claim her or let her go.
His fingers dug into the smooth fabric of her dress, but it wasn't the silk he felt—it was her. The heat of her skin burned through the thin barrier, searing his palm, sending sparks up his arm like fire licking across every nerve.
And then her scent hit him.
Warm. Sweet. Slightly floral, with just enough spice to unravel his composure.
It wasn't just intoxicating—it was dangerous.
For a split second, Adam forgot the room around them.
The music. The crowd. Even Tristan.
All he could think about was how close she was—
how soft she felt under his hand—
and how badly he wanted to close the distance between them.
He should've stepped back, but instead, he leaned in.
Just slightly. Just enough to breathe her in. And it made him want to pull her closer.
Their bodies were inches apart, barely touching, but the spark was instant.
A current, like electricity crackled through every nerve ending. He tried to ignore it and blamed it on the whiskey.
On the music, and the ridiculous night Tristan had dragged him into.
But it wasn't any of those things. It was her.
And now, with her standing this close, looking up at him with those eyes that held both defiance and curiosity—he wasn't sure if he wanted to run or surrender.
Sofia's entire body ignited the moment his hand found her waist.
His touch wasn't gentle—it was firm, sure, and possessive like he had every right to place his hands on her. The warmth of his palm burned through the thin fabric of her dress, sending a shiver rippling up her spine.
Her breath caught. Her pulse stuttered.
Every nerve in her body snapped awake, and her skin tingled beneath his fingertips. It felt as if he'd reached past her body and touched something deeper—something she didn't know had been waiting to be claimed.
She tried to steady her breathing, and ignore the way her knees threatened to give out, but she couldn't stop the rush of heat that bloomed low in her belly.
This wasn't what she'd expected. Not from a dare, and not from a stranger. And yet, her body leaned into his, drawn like a magnet to the quiet storm radiating off of him.
For the briefest second, her pride begged her to pull away,
but her body betrayed her as if gravity had chosen sides.
He didn't say a word. He just held her there—his hand still firm on her waist, his gaze locked with hers.
The space between them buzzed with something unspoken. Heat. Challenge. Curiosity.
Then, slowly, Adam extended his other hand and offered it to her—open, steady, waiting.
Sofia hesitated only for a breath. Her fingers slipped into his, and the contact sent another jolt through her spine. His hand was warm, strong, and commanding. It made her feel small and seen all at once.
Without a word, he guided her to the dance floor.