Chapter two : Damien knight

I didn’t come to the party for him.

Not exactly.

But fate’s a cruel little thing when you give it the right kind of reason.

The ballroom was dripping with old money and new perfume. Too loud. Too polished. Every man wore the same tailored arrogance; every woman glimmered like she’d been dipped in diamonds and expectation. I hated places like this. Which made them perfect for what I had to do.

My eyes scanned the room, not for Adrian Hayes—though eventually, it would be him—but for her.

Scarlett Hayes.

I’d seen her before. From a distance. In photographs. Whispers. File folders.

Beautiful. Elegant. Sad.

The wife of the man who ruined everything.

But no amount of intel prepared me for the real thing.

She was standing beside him—glass of wine in hand, lips painted to match her name, body wrapped in a blue dress that did things to my thoughts I didn’t have the patience to censor.

He didn’t look at her. Not once. Just handed her the drink like she was some kind of trophy he’d grown tired of dusting.

I didn’t approach then. That wasn’t the moment.

The moment would find me.

So I waited. Loitered at the edge of the party like smoke—unseen, yet everywhere. Waited until I saw her place the glass down, smooth her dress, and quietly slip away from the noise.

My feet followed long before I made the choice.

She moved like someone trying not to be seen—but too effortlessly beautiful to be ignored. Even her silence was art. I stayed back, slow, deliberate. A ghost in black.

The restroom hallway was quiet, the air colder here—almost reverent. Like the world itself was holding its breath.

I pushed the door open just as someone else left, and stepped inside.

There she was.

She stood in front of the mirror, fingers on the marble counter, her head slightly bowed. Like she needed the reflection to remind herself she was still here. Still real. Still holding it together.

She didn’t see me. Not at first.

But when her eyes lifted, they caught mine in the mirror—and time faltered.

Our eyes locked.

No flinch.

No hello.

Just a moment of burning silence so heavy it might’ve cracked the floor beneath us.

She was breathtaking.

But not in the obvious way. Not just the lips, or the skin, or the body.

It was the loneliness. The quiet ache. The soft desperation she tried to hide under lipstick and grace.

She wore sadness like silk. Beautiful. And barely stitched together.

I smiled. I didn’t mean to.It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t kind.

It was a promise.It said, I see you.

Not the polished wife. Not the Mrs. Hayes everyone admired.

You.

She looked away fast, pretending to rummage through her bag, but I didn’t stop watching.I wanted her to feel it.

That gaze. That pull.

And then it happened.

The scarf slipped from her shoulder.

A bare back. Pale. Smooth. Vulnerable.

My jaw clenched.

God, she was—

No.Not yet.Not here.

But soon.

Because I hadn’t expected her to look like that. To feel like that. To shake something in me that had long since turned cold.

Adrian Hayes didn’t deserve her.

But I didn’t come here to save her either.

I came here to ruin him.

And now?

Maybe I’d do both.

She moved fast—too fast. The moment the scarf slipped, she caught it in trembling fingers and pressed it against her back. But not before I saw the flush that crept across her cheeks. A shade of red so raw it felt like a confession.

She was embarrassed.

And somehow, that made her even more devastating.

I stepped closer, slowly, like a man drawn to fire knowing he’d burn.

“Let me help you,” I said, voice low, calm, deliberate.

She didn’t even look at me. “No need,” she replied, quiet and sharp, pulling the scarf tighter like a shield.

But I didn’t stop.

I took one more step and she froze. My fingers found the zipper at the base of her back, still halfway undone. Her skin was warm beneath my touch—soft, smooth, and tempting in ways I hadn’t expected.

I moved the zipper slowly.

Purposefully.

Letting my fingertips trail lightly along her spine, grazing the fragile places between bones. I felt her flinch—just slightly. Her breath hitched, chest rising like she’d just come up for air. But she didn’t speak.

Neither did I.

Her scent was intoxicating—jasmine, vanilla, and something uniquely her. I could feel the tension humming off her body like static. A woman with a husband, wearing a dress he hadn’t bothered to zip. A woman being touched by a stranger.

No.Not a stranger.

Me.

And yet… she didn’t stop me.

The zipper reached the top.

I let my fingers linger—just a beat too long—before stepping back.

She turned around fast, stuffing the scarf into her purse, eyes everywhere but on me.

“Thanks for the help,” she muttered, her voice tight, breathless.

I didn’t say a word. Just watched her walk out.

Watched that silk blue dress sway with every step.

She had Adrian Hayes.

She had a mansion, a name, a ring.

And yet her dress was still unzipped when I found her.

What does that tell you?

She was his on paper.

But for the first time, I wondered just how easily she could become mine.

The soft echo of my footsteps faded as I stepped out of the hallway and back into the golden chaos of the ballroom. The music had shifted—slower now. Romantic. Meant for dancing. The lights had dimmed just slightly, casting everything in a warm, honeyed glow. Couples had already taken to the floor, their movements effortless, polished, rehearsed.

Hands on waists. Hands on shoulders. Bodies swaying like they belonged together.

My eyes found her instantly.

Scarlet.

Standing near one of the marble columns, her silhouette framed in candlelight, that same scarf wrapped around her bare back like a secret barely clinging to her skin. Her lips still bore the ghost of the words she never said back there. I could see it—the way her fingers gripped the stem of her wine glass just a little too tightly. Like she didn’t know what to do with her hands. Like she didn’t know what to do with herself.

And then I saw him.

Adrian Hayes. Her husband.

Standing beside her like a well-cut statue—present, but entirely detached. He wasn’t looking at her. Wasn’t reaching for her. Wasn’t even acknowledging the music, let alone asking her to dance.

Everyone else swayed in elegant rhythm.

But not them.

Scarlet didn’t speak. Didn’t move. She just stood there, a lonely beauty in a room full of illusions.

It was almost insulting.

I started walking toward them, slowly, each step measured. I wasn’t going to rush this. Not when I’d waited so long.

When my gaze locked with Adrian’s, I saw it. The flicker. The recognition. It was quick—gone in an instant—but it was there.

Good.

I stopped just in front of them. Close enough that he could feel it. The tension. The weight of my presence.

She looked between us, her brows slightly furrowed, lips parted. Confused. Curious.

Adrian stiffened beside her. His grip on the glass tightened subtly.

I smiled.

Polished. Calm. But laced with something darker—something only he would recognize.

I extended my hand toward him, my voice smooth and unhurried.

“Adrian Hayes.”

He hesitated.

Then slowly, like his pride wouldn't allow him to retreat, he reached out and took my hand.

Firm grip.Locked eyes.No words.

Just the quiet crackle of a war neither of us had to declare.

And beside us, Scarlet watched. Frozen. Her breath shallow. Her eyes flicking between our faces, trying to make sense of what this moment meant.

She didn’t know.

Not yet.

But soon.

I let go of Adrian’s hand and took a small step back, my eyes falling on her again.

"Scarlett," I said, with a nod and a smile that didn’t match the storm behind my ribs.

Her name tasted like danger on my tongue.

This was just the beginning.

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