Chapter 1: The Ballroom Trap

Seraphina

The chandelier above her glittered like a crown made of ice—beautiful, cold, and seconds from shattering.

Seraphina Moreau hated events like this: silk-draped men with secrets under their cuffs, women painted in diamonds and half-truths. The air smelled like money and manipulation.

And she had never fit in more perfectly.

Dressed in a floor-length black silk gown, her dark curls pinned up, lips the color of red wine, she looked like she belonged. But she wasn’t here to blend in.

She was here to find him.

Dante Vassilis.

The billionaire nobody could touch.

The name no official dared whisper.

The man she was trying to destroy.

Two weeks ago, she'd published the first part of her exposé: a damning report connecting Vassilis Industries to illegal arms trafficking under humanitarian shipments. She hadn't expected a response. People like Dante didn’t respond.

They erased.

Yet instead of silence, she'd received an invitation.

No name. No message.

Just an elegant card tucked inside her mailbox that read: Velaris Hotel. 8 p.m. Come dressed to kill.

She came dressed to expose.

But as her eyes scanned the gilded ballroom, her heart faltered.

He was already watching her.

Dante

There she was.

Seraphina Moreau.

His recklessness wrapped in silk.

The woman who had carved open the belly of one of his most secret operations without flinching. The woman who thought she was safe behind her headlines.

He had studied her for months.

Not because of her article.

Because of her eyes.

They were relentless.

And they had looked straight into him the moment she walked into that ballroom.

He should’ve hated her.

Should’ve buried her like the others who got too close.

But Dante Vassilis didn’t hate Seraphina.

He wanted her.

Not just in the way men wanted women.

In the way predators marked territory.

He didn’t want her to disappear.

He wanted her close.

Caged.

So he could watch the fire burn slower.

So he could keep her safe—because he’d seen what the others had planned for her.

She didn’t know it yet.

But walking into this ballroom was the last free choice she'd ever make.

Seraphina

She turned away from his gaze, heart pounding with a mix of fury and... something else. Something colder. Deeper.

She didn't expect him to appear behind her with the silence of a ghost.

“You clean up well, Miss Moreau.”

His voice was smoother than she remembered. The kind that could slice silk and still leave a bruise.

She turned, slowly, eyes narrowing. “I’d say the same, Mr. Vassilis. But I make it a habit not to compliment men under investigation.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. “You're brave.”

“Or foolish.”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Why did you invite me here?”

“I didn’t,” he said, sipping his drink. “You came on your own. That’s what makes this fun.”

She stepped back, instinctively.

He noticed. And stepped forward.

“I want you to know,” he said softly, “that I’ve read everything you’ve written. Every article. Every reckless little word.”

“Are you threatening me?”

He tilted his head. “Not yet.”

She turned to walk away, heat crawling up her spine.

He didn’t stop her.

He just followed.

Later

She made it to the empty corridor just outside the ballroom, trying to breathe again.

Her phone buzzed in her clutch.

Unknown number: Turn around.

She didn’t.

Instead, she sprinted toward the elevator.

But it wouldn’t open.

And when she turned the other way—there he was.

Dante stood at the end of the corridor, alone, hands in his pockets like a man on a stroll.

“I told you,” he said, “you should’ve stayed in the crowd.”

“You can’t do this,” she hissed. “I’ll scream.”

“No one will hear you.”

A sharp sting at her neck.

Her vision tilted.

Her knees buckled.

He caught her.

And for the briefest second, as her body slumped into his arms, his expression cracked.

Not with triumph.

But something close to... guilt?

The last thing she heard was him whispering, almost too softly to be real.

“I told them not to hurt you. I told them.”

Seraphina

When she woke, the world was white.

Marble floors. White sheets. Ocean air through high iron windows.

The bed was too soft. The air too clean. The silence too careful.

This wasn’t a prison.

This was a cage lined in velvet.

And then she saw him.

Sitting in the corner, reading. One ankle resting on his knee. Dressed in black, a glass of water in his hand.

Watching her.

“Where the hell am I?” she demanded.

“Safe,” he said simply. “You’re safe.”

“You kidnapped me!”

“I relocated you.”

“To where? A private island? Underground lair?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he walked over and placed the water gently beside her.

“You fainted,” he added, almost under his breath. “I didn’t want you to hit your head.”

She stared at him. “So now you’re... what? Playing the hero?”

He met her gaze without blinking. “I don’t play anything, Seraphina. I only win.”

She hurled the glass at the wall.

He didn’t flinch.

He didn’t leave either.

He just looked at the shattered pieces and whispered, “Careful. You’ll cut yourself.”

And then turned, walked out, and locked the door behind him.

Dante (outside the door)

She’d skipped meals for two days. Her brakes were faulty. Her passwords were weak. She was seconds from being killed by someone else who didn’t care like he did.

So no, he wasn’t sorry.

Not for this.

Let her hate him.

Let her fight.

Let her throw every cruel word she could conjure.

Because behind that locked door…

she was finally safe.

And he would keep her that way.

Even if it meant becoming her villain.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***