The next evening, the ballroom of the Ritz in Milan shimmered with golden light. The city’s most powerful figures gathered beneath crystal chandeliers, glasses of champagne in hand, their voices a symphony of wealth and ambition.
Samaira Nathan arrived precisely on time, her entrance as calculated as everything else in her life. Dressed in a midnight-blue gown that trailed like liquid silk, she moved through the crowd with a grace that commanded attention. Eyes followed her, whispers trailed behind her, but she ignored them all.
Tonight was about business, nothing more. The merger with the Singapore branch was critical, and she would not let distraction slip past her polished armor.
“President Nathan,” a voice greeted warmly.
She turned to find Mr. Giordano, an influential investor, offering his hand. She shook it firmly, exchanging the usual pleasantries. Their conversation flowed smoothly until his tone shifted, just slightly.
“I hear Adam Black is in attendance tonight,” he said, his gaze flicking across the room. “Are the rumors true? That your families… share more than just business ties?”
Samaira’s smile didn’t falter, though her stomach twisted. “Rumors are the favorite pastime of men with too much time and money, Mr. Giordano. I prefer reality.”
“Of course,” he chuckled, though his eyes gleamed with curiosity.
And then—like fate mocking her—she felt it. That unmistakable weight of a gaze that set her nerves alight.
She turned.
Adam Black had arrived.
Tall, commanding in a tailored charcoal suit, he moved through the crowd like the room belonged to him. Conversations paused, heads turned, and admiration—tinged with fear—followed in his wake. His eyes found hers across the ballroom, and for a fleeting second, the world seemed to still.
Samaira quickly turned back to Mr. Giordano, her voice steady. “If you’ll excuse me.”
She needed space. Distance. Control.
But before she could retreat, Adam was there—close enough that his presence burned against her skin.
“Samaira,” he said, his voice carrying just enough for those nearby to hear.
“Mr. Black,” she replied coolly, her expression unreadable.
Their exchange drew attention. Whispers spread like fire, the crowd sensing something beneath the surface—too tense, too charged to be mere politeness.
“May I?” Adam extended a hand, his gesture deceptively formal. “It would be rude to refuse a dance.”
Samaira’s instinct screamed to refuse. To walk away. But the eyes watching, the rumors circling… refusing him would give them more power.
With a calm she didn’t feel, she placed her hand in his.
The orchestra shifted, a slow, haunting waltz filling the air. Adam led her onto the dance floor, his touch firm at her waist, guiding her effortlessly. They moved as though born for this—two figures locked in a battle disguised as elegance.
“You enjoy cornering me, don’t you?” she murmured, her eyes locked on his.
“Only when you look like this,” he said softly. “Like you’d rather kill me than admit you don’t want to let go.”
Her breath hitched, but she masked it with a sharp retort. “You mistake defiance for desire, Mr. Black. Not unusual, considering your ego.”
His lips curved, but his eyes—those gray depths—held something else. Something unspoken.
“And you mistake silence for freedom, Samaira. Not unusual, considering your fear.”
The words cut deeper than she wanted to admit. Her steps faltered for half a beat, but Adam steadied her effortlessly, his hand tightening at her waist. To the watching crowd, it looked like nothing more than grace. But between them, it was war.
“You think you know me,” she whispered, her voice sharp but trembling beneath.
“I don’t think,” he replied, his gaze searing into hers. “I know.”
The waltz ended. Applause filled the ballroom, but neither of them clapped, neither broke eye contact.
Samaira stepped back first, reclaiming her hand with practiced poise. “This changes nothing.”
Adam inclined his head slightly, a shadow of a smile brushing his lips. “On the contrary, Samaira. Everything has already changed.”
The crowd dispersed, but the tension lingered—an invisible thread pulling at them both, binding them tighter with every denial.
And as she walked away, Samaira realized something that unsettled her more than his words:
For the first time in years, her heart was no longer numb.
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