SARA

I stumbled back into the main hall, the bass vibrating in my teeth. I didn't care about my reputation anymore. I didn't care about the “Business 9” contact in my phone. I grabbed a glass of amber liquid from a passing tray and downed it. Then another. And another.

I wanted to drown the image of those marks on her neck. I wanted to burn the sound of her moans out of my ears.

"Hi, baby."

The voice was deep, unfamiliar. I lifted my heavy eyelids to find a man standing over me. He was broad-shouldered and tall, but he lacked the predatory elegance that Zavian carried like a second skin.

Wait - why am I constantly thinking about zavian ? Shit!

"Seems like you're having a rough solo night," the stranger said, his eyes raking over me with a hunger I should have feared. "Want some company?"

I didn't answer. My mind was a hazy whirlpool of spite and gin.

"Dance with me?" He held out a hand.

I looked at his palm, then back toward the corridor where my loyal fiancé was currently busy with his business.

A dark, dangerous idea flickered in my mind, glinting like a blade. If he wanted a virgin bride, if that was the only thing he valued, then I would take it away from him.

If they wanted a marriage of convenience, fine. But if he wanted a virgin bride to satisfy his ego?  Watch me, ruin it.

I know probably this is the insane idea I ever had. When my family doesn't care about my life. Why would I care about the consequences ?

I placed my hand in the stranger's and let him lead me into the thick of the crowd.

The heat of the bodies was stifling. We reached the center of the floor, and the man began to reach for my waist, his fingers ghosting over my skin.

Then, the world shifted.

A blur of motion slammed into the stranger, sending him staggering back into the crowd. Before I could even gasp, a hand like a shackle bolted around my waist, hauling me backward until my spine hit a chest that felt like a wall of solid marble.

"Fucking stay away from her if you want to keep breathing," a voice snarled.

The crowd parted as if a wolf had just stepped into a sheep pen. It was Zavian. His eyes weren't just dark; they were voids of pure, focused rage. He spun me around in his arms, his grip so tight I could feel the individual pressure of his fingers bruising my hips.

"You decided to fuck with my head tonight, didn't you, sara ?" he whispered, his breath hot against my forehead.

He shifted his grip, one hand sliding up to wrap around the column of my throat. He didn't squeeze, but he held my pulse point between his thumb and forefinger, feeling the frantic, hummingbird beat of my heart. He forced my chin up, making me look directly into the storm in his eyes.

"You let my enemy touch you," he hissed, his voice dropping to a dangerous, vibrating register. "Do you have any idea what I do to people who touch what's mine?"

I stared at him, my head spinning from the alcohol and the sheer force of his presence. I should have been terrified. But in the middle of this chaos, with a villain holding my life in his hands, I felt more alive than I ever had with the man I was supposed to marry.

"I'm not yours, Zavian," I managed to breathe out, though my body was traitorously leaning into his heat.

His thumb brushed over my jaw, his gaze dropping to my lips with a hunger that felt like a death sentence. "Give me ten minutes, Sara. I'll make sure you forget anyone else ever existed."

The world around us seemed to stutter and stall, the heavy bass of the club turning into a distant hum as I stared into Zavian's eyes.

I hadn't realized the giant I'd chosen to dance with was Zavian's rival but it was a delicious bonus. Zavian was already a bag of possessiveness; seeing me in the arms of someone he loathed had lit the fuse.

He was a nightmare, a functional psychopath who had spent his youth crushing anyone who dared to stand in his way. He thrived on control. Everyone hated him, yet everyone feared him.

But tonight, his madness was my weapon. My soon to be ex finance prefers pure women and I would be nothing he wanted. And who better to ruin me than the man everyone loathed?

My heart wasn't just beating; it was thundering against my ribs, a war drum echoing the destruction I was about to unleash.

I knew my family. To them, my voice was just background noise they ignored while they signed contracts and shook hands over my future. They wouldn't listen to my pleas.

But my fiancé? He was a man built on the fragile glass of his own ego. He wanted a pure wife, a trophy that had never been touched, a loyal shadow he could ignore while he played his sordid games.

I was going to shatter that glass into a million jagged pieces.

If he found out I wasn't the virgin bride he'd ordered, he might hesitate. But if he found out I had been taken by Zavian Moretti—the man the city whispered about in terrified tones, the psycho who lived outside the laws of morality. he wouldn't just hesitate. He would recoil.

The shame of being Zavian's second-hand choice would be a stain his pride couldn't wash away. He would be the one to break the engagement. He would be the one to tell the families “no”  and that’s what I need.

"I let him touch me," I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline. I watched the rage flicker in his pupils, turning them into shards of black glass.

"Because there was no one else," I added, the lie tasting like copper on my tongue.

"I am right here," he rasped, his grip tightening on my throat until the heat of his palm was all I could feel.

I didn't wait for him to make the next move. I reached up, my fingers hooking into his expensive silk collar, and yanked him down. I kissed him. It was a desperate, jagged claim.

Zavian froze for a heartbeat, the shock radiating through his rigid frame. Then, the predator took over.

His hand abandoned my neck to tangle deeply in my hair, tilting my head back at an angle that left me completely exposed. He groaned into my mouth, a sound of pure, unadulterated hunger, and tasted like smoke and dark promises. He didn't just return the kiss; he invaded. He took my breath as if it were his birthright, his tongue sweeping against mine with a dominance that made my knees buckle.

I threaded my fingers into his dark thick hair and surprisingly soft and pulled him closer. I didn't have a roadmap for this; I'd never kissed anyone before, let alone a man who looked at the world like something he needed to break.

I expected him to recoil. I expected him to push me away with a sneer, mocking my desperation. Instead, he met me with an intensity that felt like drowning. I was lacking my breath.

"Breathe, Sara," he whispered, his lips grazing mine as he pulled back just an inch. His voice was a low, jagged rasp in the dark. "I don't want you dying before you finish what you started."

I gasped, my chest heaving. It all felt like a fever dream. The man I came to dance with was gone, likely chased off by the mere shadow of Zavian's presence.

Before I could find my footing, the world tilted. Zavian hoisted me over his shoulder like a trophy.

"Zavian! Put me down!" I yelled, my fists thumping against the hard muscle of his back.

"We'll continue this, Sara. Just give me a minute," he muttered. He didn't even sound winded. He navigated the hallway with predatory ease, kicking open a heavy door and tossing me onto a sprawling bed. The mattress dipped under my weight, and before I could scramble up, he was looming over me.

"What kind of stunt is this?" he demanded. He spoke with that sharp, clipped British accent that he used like a weapon of mockery.

"Zavian..." I started, but he cut me off, his shadow swallowing me whole.

"You know I hate him, Sara. Don’t you ?" he growled, his eyes tracking the pulse jumping in my throat. "Why the hell would you let him touch you?"

"I told you," I snapped, sitting up and meeting his glare with my own. "There was no one else."

He let out a sharp, dark laugh. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, the flare of the lighter illuminating the harsh lines of his face. He exhaled a cloud of gray smoke, looking down at me as if I were a puzzle he was tempted to burn.

"Stop the games. If you have a vendetta against me, fight me directly. Don't use some low-life to get a reaction."

His arrogance was the final straw. I didn't want to talk; I wanted to feel something that wasn't the cold, clinical rejection of my fiancé. I lunged off the bed, my arms hooking around his neck as I jumped. My legs locked around his waist, forcing him to steady me.

He didn't move, his eyes wide with a rare flash of genuine surprise. I reached out, plucked the cigarette from his lips, and flicked it toward the corner of the room.

"Talk less, Zavian," I whispered.

I crashed my lips against his again. This time, he didn't wait. He slammed me back against the cold, hard surface of the wall, his hands pinning my wrists above my head. Our tongues fought for dominance, a chaotic battle of teeth and heat. It wasn't soft.

It was a war.

When the air finally ran out, I thumped my fist against his chest. He broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against mine, his breath coming in ragged, shallow bursts as he stared down at me.

"You have no idea," he rasped, his grip on my wrists tightening, "what you're inviting in."

"Don't start something you can't finish," he warned, his voice dropping into that dark, jagged register that made my blood turn to liquid fire. "I don't like things left unfinished."

"I'm not starting a game, Zavian," I whispered, my voice trembling with a cocktail of spite and sudden, sharp desire. "I want you. Now."

His eyes went completely black, the pupils devouring the iris until he looked less like a man and more like the monster everyone accused him of being.

"Take me," I breathed, the words feeling like a betrayal and a liberation all at once. "Completely."

He didn't need a second invitation. He descended on me, his mouth devouring mine with a feral hunger. He didn't just kiss me; he devoured me. His mouth was a storm, his tongue a demand I was more than willing to meet.

"One night, Zavian," I gasped as he broke the kiss to trail his lips down my jawline. "Just one night."

"One night," he repeated against my skin, the words vibrating through my bones.

He dropped me back onto the silk sheets, the cool fabric a stark contrast to the furnace of his skin. He loomed over me, the shadows of the room carving out the lethal planes of his muscles. He leaned down, his lips trailing a path of fire along my jawline before settling on the junction of my neck.

He bit me there. A sharp claim before his tongue smoothed over the mark, sucking the skin into a bruise.

"Ahh..." The moan escaped me before I could choke it back. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated surrender.

"I didn't know your voice was this sweet, Sara," he murmured, his breath hot against the mark he was claiming.

I reached for his shirt, my fingers shaking as I fumbled with the buttons. My mind was a mess, my coordination gone. Zavian watched me struggle for a heartbeat, a predatory smirk tugging at his lips, before he shoved my hands aside. With a single, violent jerk, he ripped the shirt open, buttons skittering across the floor like hail.

His hands moved to the straps of my pink bodycon dress. He slid them down my arms with agonizing slowness, his eyes never leaving mine. As the fabric pooled around my waist, he leaned down to press a lingering, sensual kiss just above the curve of my chest. For a fleeting second, he paused, hovering there with a flicker of terrifying, mock-gentlemanly hesitation.

I blinked, and the moment vanished. With one swift, decisive movement, he stripped the dress away, tossing the expensive fabric across the room like it was nothing but a nuisance.

"Zavian, the dress..." I managed to choke out as he tossed his shirt aside, appearing over me in nothing but his boxers. "Don't spoil it."

"As you say," he rasped, his gaze raking over my exposed skin with a hunger that made me feel naked in a way I hadn't prepared for. "I'm going to spoil you. Not the dress."

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