Chapter 6

Elara's Pov

My heels clicked against the marble floor like a countdown.

I didn't have to look back to know he was following me. I could feel it — the heat of his stare, the way the air shifted around me like it carried his attention. Every inch of me was alive under it. When I entered the hall, I didn't expect to spot him so soon. I mean, he was standing out even with everyone wearing masks. And the stupid dance helped in getting closer to him. I just needed to throw enough bones for him to chase. And so that is exactly what I did.

My fingers grazed the edge of the satin neckline, tugging it down just enough to be dangerous. Not desperate. Just enough to give him a reason to keep chasing.

The corridor curved and emptied into a quieter wing of the ballroom. A gold-plated sign pointed toward the restrooms. I paused for only a second outside the ladies' room, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.

Thank God it was empty.

I stepped inside, my heels echoing against the tile. Soft lighting spilled down from a chandelier that probably cost more than my apartment. I approached the mirror, smoothing down my dress, adjusting the straps, checking the angle of my mask. One more breath.

Then I heard the door creak open behind me.

I met his gaze in the mirror before I even turned — those storm-dark eyes that had no business looking that good under crystal lighting.

He looked like a predator.

Or maybe… prey?

I composed myself, tilting my chin and letting that sultry smile curve my lips as I turned to face him fully.

He stepped in, slow, like he had all the time in the world. Then he reached back and shut the door — and locked it with a soft click.

"You're a quick runner, little vixen," Gabriel said, voice low, laced with that maddening confidence.

I smirked, lifting one brow. "And you were too busy chasing to notice the sign outside said the ladies."

He chuckled, deep and rough, eyes raking down my figure like he was memorizing every inch. "Some signs are meant to be ignored."

"Oh?" I leaned back against the sink, arms crossing under my chest. "And what exactly are you expecting to find in here, Mr. Anderson?"

He took one step closer. Then another. Until the space between us was dangerously thin. "Answers," he said.

I smiled slowly. "I don't give those away for free."

"Lucky for you," he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from my shoulder, "I came prepared to pay."

My pulse was in my throat. My mouth is dry. But I refused to show it.

The game had just started.

And I was done playing nice.

I leaned back against the marble counter, one brow arched as he stepped fully into the room. "Maybe I wanted to be chased."

He stepped closer. "Or maybe you just wanted to see how far I'd go."

"Still playing the game, Mr. Anderson?" I said, my voice light but teasing. "I thought men like you were used to women falling into their arms."

"I am," he said, now only a breath away. "But I've never been interested in the ones who fall easily."

My heart thudded, but I kept my expression cool and playful. I turned toward the mirror, adjusting the strap of my dress, just enough to drag his eyes downward again.

"So what's your angle?" I asked, watching him through the reflection. "You got what you wanted. I'm here. Alone. Vulnerable."

"You?" He gave a quiet laugh. "Vulnerable?"

I shrugged, lips curving. "Depends on what you do next."

He stepped up behind me, not touching, but close enough that I could feel the heat of him down my spine.

"I'm not here for your skin," he murmured in my ear. "I'm here for the name."

I tilted my head slightly, our eyes meeting again in the mirror.

"Then you're in the wrong room," I whispered. "Because I only give my name to men who earn it."

"And how do I earn yours?"

"Start by telling me why you followed me in here?"

He didn't answer right away. Just reached out and finally let his hand rest on my waist and pulled me back, plastering me against his chest.

"I told you," he said. "I want your name."

"And I told you…" I turned to face him fully now, hands resting lightly on his chest. "Keep wanting."

He smirked, but there was a new edge to his eyes. A flicker of something darker — frustration, curiosity, or maybe hunger.

The tension pulled tight between us, taut like a wire. One wrong word and it would snap. One right word, and it would ignite.

I turned around to face him and let my fingers drag down his lapel slowly.

"So, Gabriel…" I said, voice low. "What happens when a predator starts to wonder if the prey is hunting him?"

His breath was steady, but barely.

Mine? I made sure it brushed deliberately against his jaw as I leaned in.

"You want my truth," I whispered, letting my voice drip like warm honey, "but I don't think you've earned it yet."

He didn't move. Didn't even blink. But I could feel the shift in the air — the sharp catch in his breath, the way his fingers curled slightly against my waist. He was at my mercy. And I love watching him lose all control.

I leaned closer, lips hovering just beside his ear.

Then, softly, I exhaled, letting my breath skate over his skin. I saw the hair rising on his neck. I felt the way it made him still, the tension radiating through his body.

My lips grazed his neck, feather-light, barely a touch. But it was enough to send a pulse racing beneath his skin. I pressed my mouth lower, just beneath his jaw, my lips skimming the stubble there.

"You feel that?" I murmured against him. "That heartbeat?"

His grip on my waist tightened.

"I control that now."

Then I dragged a single nail across his cheek just enough to make him feel the pressure over his stubble. His jaw clenched. His breath hitched. His composure slipped, if only for a second.

He looked like a man starving.

And I was the buffet he couldn't touch.

I tilted my head, lips just inches from his — close enough that he'd feel the warmth of them, maybe even taste the ghost of want.

His eyes flicked to my mouth.

Waiting.

Hoping.

I smirked.

Then, at the last second, I leaned just a hair to the side, watching his lips part, watching that moment of anticipation sharpen into hunger.

"I never said I came here to be caught," I whispered into his ear. "Maybe I just wanted to remind you what losing control feels like."

And then I pulled back.

Turned.

And walked out.

Leaving the scent of my perfume and the heat of everything we didn't do burning behind me.