Luca had spent an entire week pretending that the meeting between Elena and him never happened.

That her voice didn’t echo in him.

You pretend you don’t love me. I pretend I don’t care anymore.

He buried himself in work, in numbers, in shadows — anywhere her existence didn’t reach.

But Elena Moretti always found a way to be the one thing he couldn’t outrun.

And tonight, the world forced him to face it.

The Winter Charity Ball — an annual event for the elite.

Diamonds, deception, politics hidden under champagne.

Luca wasn’t a man who feared rooms like this.

Until she walked into one of them.

He spotted her the moment she arrived — because of course he did.

Elena stepped onto the ballroom floor in a backless silver gown, hair in loose waves, skin glowing under chandeliers. Soft elegance wrapped in fire.

Her beauty wasn’t the problem.

The problem was the man at her side.

Matteo Moretti.

Her brother — but the world didn’t know that. To everyone else, they were a stunning couple entering together.

A whisper rippled through the room.

“Who’s the woman?” “She’s breathtaking.” “Whoever she’s with is lucky.”

Luca’s pulse hit like a punch.

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

Damian appeared beside him with a glass of scotch. “Don’t shatter it. Humans will notice.”

Luca didn’t take his eyes off her. “She’s not supposed to be here with him.”

“Why? Because you wanted to be the one she arrived with?”

Luca said nothing — which was the same as admitting it.

Elena spotted the Volkov group across the ballroom — Adrian, Seraphina, Alina, Nikolai.

Her gaze skimmed past all of them… until it collided with Luca’s.

A hit.

An earthquake.

A history.

Then — she looked away first.

That was the kill shot.

Luca’s jaw locked. His fists tightened. His chest burned.

Adrian’s voice cut through the tension. “Do not make a scene.”

“I’m not,” Luca muttered.

“Luca,” Seraphina warned gently. “She’s trying to show she moved on. Let her breathe.”

Let her breathe.

Luca wanted to. He tried.

But then Matteo — knowing exactly what he was doing — placed a hand on Elena’s bare back as he guided her toward the dance floor.

Her back — the one part of her Luca could never look at without remembering his hands there, his mouth there, her whispering Luca… please… don’t stop.

And just like that, jealousy became violence inside his blood.

Damian spoke under his breath. “If you walk over there now, you’ll prove the whole world right — that she’s your weakness.”

Luca didn’t care.

He walked.

Every head turned as he cut through the crowd — power, rage, inevitability.

He reached the dance floor just as Matteo pulled Elena into a slow spin.

Luca stepped between them.

Not pushing. Not touching. But the message hit like a blade:

Mine.

Elena’s eyes widened — not fear, not anger — shock.

Matteo glared. “Back off, Volkov.”

“She’s working with the Volkovs tonight,” Luca said, voice cold. “She’s needed.”

Matteo scoffed. “For legal counsel, not for you.”

Luca’s silver gaze sharpened — lethal, patient. “Take your hand off her.”

Elena stepped forward, placing a hand on Matteo’s chest — gently stopping him.

“It’s fine,” she whispered to him.

Then she turned to Luca — expression unreadable.

“You don’t get to do this,” she said softly. “Not anymore.”

Luca didn’t blink. “I’m not playing games.”

“Then why are you here?”

Because I can’t stand the thought of anyone touching you.

Because I left you to save you, and now I’m losing you because of it.

Because seeing you with someone else feels like bleeding to death awake.

He said none of it.

“Business,” he lied.

She laughed — a heartbreaking sound. “Right. Because dragging me off a dance floor is good for business.”

The orchestra swelled around them, couples dancing as if the tension wasn’t poisoning the air.

Elena held his gaze — steady, calm, devastating.

“You want professionalism? Then act like it.”

She brushed past him, taking Matteo’s arm again.

Luca didn’t touch her — but his voice stopped her mid-step.

“Elena.”

She froze.

His next words came out low. Raw. Uncontrolled.

“Don’t make me watch you be someone else’s.”

Her breath caught — shoulders trembling for half a second before she forced herself forward.

Matteo led her away.

Luca stood there alone — furious at her, at Matteo, at the universe, but mostly at himself.

Damian appeared again. “Shall I say it or do you prefer silence?”

“Say it,” Luca growled.

“You’re not angry because she doesn’t love you anymore,” Damian said.

“You’re angry because she doesn’t hurt anymore.”

And that — that was the one thing Luca Volkov didn’t know how to survive.