DANCED TO THE BILLIONAIRE'S TUNE

Isabella's pov

"You look like trouble."

That was the first thing I heard when I walked into Eleanor Hastings’ charity gala.

The voice came from a man in a black tuxedo with a smirk that looked like it belonged in a magazine. I didn’t even turn my head. Not yet.

My heels clicked against the marble floor as I stepped further into the glittering ballroom.

The crystal chandeliers above sparkled, throwing soft light over the city’s richest and most powerful people. Everyone was smiling, drinking, laughing. Perfect.

I adjusted my red silk dress and fixed the smile on my face. It wasn’t nerves making my heart pound—it was the fire inside me. This night wasn’t about charity or champagne. It was about revenge.

My eyes searched the room until they landed on him. Adrian Moretti.

He stood near the bar, drink in hand, laughing with two men in sharp suits. His smile was easy, careless—like a man who had never felt pain. I hated that smile.

Not because of him. Because of his father.

Vincenzo Moretti had destroyed my mother’s life. And he had walked away without a scratch.

My family had been left in pieces, and my mother… she never recovered. Tonight, I wasn’t here as just Isabella. I was here as the woman who would make Moretti pay.

“Eyes on the target,” Gabriel’s voice murmured in my earpiece.

I glanced to my left, spotting my brother standing by the far wall, pretending to look at his phone. He wore the same calm expression he always did, but I knew his eyes were on me. He was my partner in this mission.

“I see him,” I whispered. “He hasn’t noticed me yet.”

“Then make sure he does,” Gabriel replied.

I took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and began moving through the crowd.

I smiled at people I didn’t know, exchanged polite greetings with the ones I did. I laughed when I needed to. I was the perfect guest, the perfect stranger.

And then, as if he could feel my eyes on him, Adrian turned.

Our eyes met.

His gaze lingered for a second too long, and then his smile widened. He excused himself from his friends and started walking toward me.

My pulse kicked up, but not from excitement—from control. I couldn’t let him see anything except what I wanted him to see.

When he reached me, his voice was warm. “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“Not yet,” I said softly.

His eyes lit with interest. “I’m Adrian.”

I gave a small smile. “Isabella.”

Before either of us could say more, a familiar voice interrupted. “Adrian! I see you’ve met our newest guest.”

It was Eleanor Hastings, the hostess of the gala. She was elegant as always, wrapped in silver satin, her diamond earrings catching the light. She kissed my cheek lightly before turning to Adrian.

“You two should get to know each other,” Eleanor said. “I have a feeling you’ll get along just fine.”

Adrian chuckled. “I’m starting to think so.”

We stood there, talking about safe, unimportant things—travel, art, the weather. He was charming, confident, and so sure of himself.

I let him think I was impressed. I let him think I was just another beautiful woman who wanted to be in his orbit.

But I was memorizing every detail—how he spoke, how he moved, how he looked at me.

After a while, Eleanor leaned closer to Adrian and whispered something in his ear.

It was quick, but I didn’t miss it.

Whatever she said, it made his expression change.

The easy smile faded. His eyes sharpened. And when he looked at me again, there was something different in his gaze. Curiosity, yes… but also something like suspicion.

I forced my smile to stay in place. “Something wrong?”

He shook his head, but his eyes didn’t leave mine. “Not at all. I was just wondering…”

“Wondering what?” I asked, tilting my head slightly.

He stepped a little closer, lowering his voice. “If we’ve met before.”

I laughed lightly, pretending not to notice the tension in his tone. “I don’t think so.”

But inside, my mind was racing. Why was he looking at me like that? What had Eleanor told him?

“Would you like a drink?” he asked.

“I already have one,” I said, lifting my champagne.

“Then maybe a dance?”

I hesitated. Getting closer to him was the plan, but something in his eyes told me he wasn’t as blind as I’d thought. Still, I nodded. “Sure.”

He led me to the dance floor, one hand warm against my back. The music was slow, soft, almost too intimate.

His scent—expensive cologne and something else—wrapped around me. I hated that I noticed.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked as we moved.

“I travel,” I replied.

“For business or pleasure?”

“Both.”

His eyes searched mine like he was trying to read between my words. “You seem familiar.”

I smiled faintly. “You must meet a lot of people.”

“Not people like you,” he said.

Something about the way he said it made my chest tighten. I reminded myself of my mission. I wasn’t here to be charmed. I was here to destroy him.

But as we danced, I found my mind slipping. For a second, it wasn’t about revenge—it was about the heat of his hand against mine, the way his voice dipped when he spoke, the way his eyes held me like no one else in the room existed.

Dangerous.

When the song ended, I stepped back. “Thank you for the dance.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said with a slight smile. “We’re not done.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You’ll see,” he replied.

I walked back toward the bar, trying to steady my breathing. Gabriel appeared at my side a moment later, his voice low. “You’re getting too close.”

“I’m fine,” I said.

He gave me a look. “Isabella…”

“I said I’m fine.”

But my thoughts were spinning. What had Eleanor told him? Why did he suddenly look at me like I was a puzzle he needed to solve?

Later in the evening, I found myself standing alone on the balcony, the city lights stretching out below. I needed air. I needed to remember why I was here.

The sound of footsteps behind me made me turn.

Adrian was there, holding two glasses of champagne. He handed me one without a word.

We stood there in silence for a moment before he finally spoke. “You’re not who you say you are, are you?”

My breath caught. “What makes you think that?”

His lips curved, but it wasn’t the same easy smile from before. This one was sharper. “Call it a feeling.”

I sipped my drink, keeping my eyes on the skyline. “Feelings can be wrong.”

“And sometimes,” he said quietly, “they’re the only thing that’s right.”

I turned to look at him, my heart pounding. Was this a game to him? Or did he know something?

The wind tugged at my hair as he stepped closer, his voice low. “Tell me, Isabella… what are you doing here?”