PROLOGUE
LUKE
Tonight, I would lay everything on the line, out in the open, and take the first steps into a future I was finally done hiding. Mila would be mine—publicly, and in a way my parents could not oppose.
From the moment I’d entered the Blackwood Foundation Gala, my public mask slipped into place. The room oozed money trying to convince itself it had a soul—crystal chandeliers, champagne, silk, and smiles measured to the millimeter. Perfume and decadence hung heavy in the air. Power dressed up as philanthropy.
And then there was Mila. Silver clung to her like liquid light, the dress dangerously skimming her body. Low-backed. Bare shoulders. The fabric moved when she did, catching the chandelier’s light and throwing it back brighter. She didn’t belong to this room—and that was exactly why every head turned.
I never looked away.
The pull was immediate, physical. It always was. Something deep and animalistic in me oriented toward her like a compasssnapping north. I felt it in my chest, in my hands, in the instinctive need to touch her just to prove she was real.
When my hand rested at her waist, something hot and unrepentant flared. Not ownership. Claim. She fit as if she’d been made for me.
“You look—” My voice hitched, then steadied. “Dangerous,” I told her, because there wasn’t another word that fit.
Her full lips curved and she leaned in. “To you?”
I told her the truth. “Every time.”
I didn’t give myself a chance to hesitate as I steered us toward my parents.
This was the moment. If I didn’t claim her here—publicly, unmistakably—it would get taken from us later and twisted into something else.
“Dad. Mom.” My voice stayed polite, even as my grip on Mila firmed by a fraction. A silent brace. “This is my girlfriend, Mila Callahan.”
The word landed like a challenge.
Dad studied her the way he assessed threats. “Mila.” Her name alone held a warning.
I stepped closer on instinct—shielding her without trying to hide it, reminding him she wasn’t a pawn on his radar.
Mom filled the palpable silence left in Dad’s wake, her social mask snapping into place. “Thank you for your help with the student coordination. The turnout’s wonderful.”
“I—” Her attention flicked between my parents. “I’m glad.”
Dad extended his hand to her, and I stiffened at the thought of him—anyone—touching her with ill intent. I didn’t miss the intent in the gesture, the hardness in his eyes, or how I sensed he was about to strike at any moment. She shook his hand, and I wanted to rip her away from him.
“A Callahan at my table.” His gaze cut to me, a flicker of speculation behind it. Our conversation months ago about myexpectation to stay away from Mila was a crystal-clear reminder darkening his eyes. Her mother’s status as a former employee of King Enterprises, the way she and her daughter had left unexpectedly one night, not returning for a full year, and when they did, Adriana Callahan had suspiciously gone to work for our competitor—Charles Dunn of Dunn Industries. “Interesting.”
Something in me went still. My thumb traveled lower at Mila’s waist—firm, possessive. Not hiding it and not apologizing for it. “Why wouldn’t she be?” My tone stayed even, controlled, every word deliberate. “She’s with me.”
For a beat, my parents paused, sensing the threat threaded through my voice.
Mom’s smile thinned, the corners straining to hold just as my brother Drew stepped in, all easy charm and perfect timing. “Wow, territorial pissing already?” He laughed lightly then kissed Mom’s cheek. “That’s faster than usual. Mila, you look stunning. Claire, come here. You remember Mila, right?”
His fiancée appeared at his side, pale in soft-pink silk, clutching her purse in front of her. When her gaze met Mila’s, understanding passed through her eyes. She knew what it was like to stand before my parents as they weighed and judged her as viable for their son, or simply not good enough.
“Good to see you again.” Her voice was low, careful. She clasped Mila’s hand in hers briefly in a subtle show of support.
Dad’s jaw flexed before he focused once more on me. “We’ll talk later.”
“Yeah.” I met his stare without blinking. “We will.”
Someone called Dad’s name from across the room, and we were dismissed. As he and Mom left, the tension eased by inches, not gone—never gone—but loosened enough to breathe. It wasn’t over, not by a long shot. There were several other sharks in the water we needed to head off. I squeezed Mila’swaist, guiding her away from my brother and Claire with a look of thanks.
“Come on.” I bent to Mila’s ear, breathing in the light floral scent of her perfume. “We’re not done.”