I never imagined high society could feel this suffocating.

The moment we step into the ballroom, golden chandeliers hang above like suspended stars, reflecting off marble floors and crystal glasses. Guests in tailored suits and sparkling gowns laugh, flirt, and trade deals like bullets in a war I am not yet ready to fight.

And there is Liam.

Of course he is flawless. Standing a fraction ahead of me, shoulders back, jaw sharp, expression perfectly calm. He doesn’t just walk into a room—he takes it over, and every eye is drawn to him, but not the way people are drawn to a celebrity. No one is staring in awe. They are staring in respect, caution, and just a trace of fear.

I clutch my clutch a little tighter. My dress is black silk, hugging curves I never realized existed under years of baggy sweaters and jeans. The designer’s work is meticulous. Perfect. But as I glance at Liam, my confidence is tempered by the awareness that everyone here has an opinion. And some of them—well—some of them will not like me.

He offers his arm without speaking. I slide mine through, my pulse beating faster than it should. Every brush of his hand, every slight press against me makes my chest flare. And I hate that I feel it. Hate that I am aware of it.

“Stick close,” he murmurs as we move forward. His voice is low, almost for me alone, and I can feel his heat against my arm. “Eyes on me, and stay graceful.”

“Yes, sir,” I whisper, smiling a little despite myself.

The crowd swirls around us. I smile politely, nod, answer questions about family business, charity work, the latest philanthropic effort. All lies. All measured. All perfectly rehearsed.

Then I see her.

Samantha Keller. The woman who has been orbiting Liam Knight since college, who whispers his name like a prayer and laughs at jokes no one else gets. I remember her from the boardroom briefing: stunning, confident, sharp. And now she is glaring at me like she wants to rip me in half.

I freeze slightly, and she glides toward us like a predator.

“Elena,” she says, voice syrupy sweet. “How… unexpected to see you here.”

I force a polite smile. “Samantha. You look… lovely.”

She smirks. “Oh, thank you. But I didn’t expect you to actually be invited. Liam must be changing the rules this year.”

Liam’s hand tightens on my arm, subtle, warning. “She is here because she is my partner tonight,” he says, his tone quiet but sharp.

Samantha laughs, soft and deliberate. “Of course.” She leans slightly closer, just enough for me to notice the faint scent of expensive perfume. “It must be thrilling… to suddenly be the center of attention. I imagine it takes talent to keep up.”

I force another smile. “I’m learning quickly.”

Her eyes narrow, and then she does something subtle, cruel. A server passes with champagne, and she leans toward me, deliberately bumping my arm. My glass tips. Warm liquid splashes across my dress, soaking the silk.

I gasp. The crowd barely notices, but Liam does.

Before I can react, he has me pinned gently but firmly with his hand on my back, his body shielding mine. “Are you hurt?” His voice is low, concerned, but I can feel the tension in his words. Not for me, exactly, but because someone dared to touch me.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, heart hammering. But I can feel the heat spreading on my skin, embarrassment mingling with something darker. Something dangerous.

Samantha’s smile is sharp. “Oh, what a shame. I hope your dress isn’t ruined.”

I want to rip her smug smile off her face. But I don’t. Not in front of him. Instead, I bend to adjust my dress, trying to make it appear deliberate, elegant, untouchable.

Liam’s hand lingers on my back. “Ignore her,” he murmurs. “Stay close.”

I obey instinctively, letting his presence ground me. There is a heat between us, electric and infuriating, that has nothing to do with the room or the crowd or Samantha.

The evening continues with sharp edges. Samantha keeps appearing, just in my peripheral vision, whispering words that sting and judging every movement I make. I catch glimpses of her laughing with Liam when I am not looking, but he never lets the laughter linger. He turns back to me, attentive, his hand brushing mine as he guides me across the floor.

“Watch your step,” he murmurs softly when we navigate a narrow path between tables. “And keep your head up. You belong with me tonight.”

The words hit me in a way I am not ready to admit. Belong. Something fluttering in my chest says that even if this is a contract, even if everything between us is measured and calculated, he feels it too. I catch his gaze, brief but intense, and I have to look away before I melt entirely.

Samantha is persistent. She corners me near the balcony later, pretending concern. “You know,” she says, voice syrupy again, “Liam always notices the wrong things. Make sure you don’t embarrass yourself.”

I glare at her. “I’m not here to compete with you.”

She laughs, soft but venomous. “Oh, honey. He notices everything. And I’ve noticed you. You’re stepping into his world, but be careful. You don’t want to make him regret it.”

I want to tell her off. I want to call her out for spilling my drink, for flirting too close, for thinking she owns Liam. But I can’t. I take a steadying breath and smile politely. “Thank you for your advice.”

Her eyes flash, and she leaves, satisfied, like she’s already won some invisible battle.

When I turn back, Liam is there. Standing closer than I expected. His presence is overwhelming. I feel it in my chest, in my stomach, like static electricity.

“Are you all right?” His voice is low. Concerned. Protective. Dominant.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly. But I can’t stop my pulse from spiking.

He studies me for a long moment, and then he leans slightly closer. “You know,” he murmurs, “no one touches you but me. Understood?”

My throat goes dry. I nod, unable to speak. Heat spreads across my body in a way that has nothing to do with the room, the lights, or the people.

“Good,” he says. Then he steps back, just enough to remind me that this is still a contract. But the tension, the electricity, doesn’t leave.

Later, we are on the balcony, away from the crowd. The city stretches below, a glittering maze of lights. I lean slightly against the railing, catching my breath.

“You handled her well,” Liam says quietly, standing close, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off him.

“She spilled my drink,” I mutter. Frustrated, flustered. “Intentional or not, I don’t care. I just—” I stop, suddenly aware of how close he is.

He tilts his head, studying me. “You’re trembling.”

I glance down, embarrassed. “I’m not.”

“You are,” he says, soft but certain. “Your pulse is racing. You’re flustered. I can feel it from here.”

I want to roll my eyes, but I don’t. Because it’s true. And I hate that it’s true.

“Maybe I’m cold,” I murmur, forcing a laugh.

He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from my face, and my stomach twists. “No,” he says, voice low, intimate. “You’re alive. And you should feel it. Every second. Every nerve. This is your life now.”

My heart hammers. This is him. Liam Knight. Protecting me, claiming me, even in small ways. Even though I am supposed to be calculating, plotting my revenge, I can’t ignore the pull between us.

I glance at him, and something in his eyes stops me. Desire, control, something tender, dangerous. And I realize—this is more than a contract.

It’s a game neither of us fully understand yet.

And I have no idea who will win.