Who is he

"Mr. Black, I would like to say what a pleasant surprise," Ivan says, his lips curling into that maddening smirk. "But that would be a lie."

The chandelier's soft light catches the diamond choker encircling his neck, casting tiny sparkles that dance with every tilt of his head. My breath hitches. Is it real? Or is it just another way for him to flaunt his untouchable allure?

Dorian's expression darkens further, his eyes narrowing as he grits out, "What are you doing here?"

Ivan doesn't miss a beat. "I'm here with my date." His voice is smooth, deliberate, laced with amusement. Then his gaze shifts—to me.

For a fleeting moment, our eyes meet, and I feel it—a flicker of pity. Pity, from him. From someone who stood exactly where I am not so long ago.

The audacity makes my blood boil. Who does he think he is? Months ago, he was the one clutching onto Dorian's arm, enduring the cold glares and whispered rumors. How dare he look at me like that, as though I'm beneath him now?

Dorian's sharp inhale snaps me back to the moment. He moves suddenly, his hand shooting out to grab Ivan by the arm.

But Ivan is quicker. He steps back, smooth and fluid, effortlessly dodging Dorian's grasp.

"I belong to someone else now," he says, his voice mocking yet firm, every syllable cutting like glass. "You're not allowed."

The words hang in the air, heavy and final, as though they carry the weight of something more than just ownership.

Dorian's jaw tightens, his shoulders tense with restrained fury. But Ivan doesn't stop there. With a calmness that borders on infuriating, he brushes an invisible speck of dust off the flawless fabric of his shirt, his movements exaggerated just enough to send a clear message.

Dorian scoffs, his lips curling into a bitter smirk. "So that's why you're so bold now," he sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. "Did you forget you were once mine? Like a dog in heat, a starving dog, you begged for me."

I gasp audibly, shocked by the venom in his words. How could he say something so cruel, so degrading?

Ivan, however, doesn't even flinch. He rolls his eyes with an almost theatrical indifference.

"And I'm also beautiful, stunning, and charming," Ivan replies smoothly, his hand flicking through his golden hair with exaggerated flair. The chandelier light catches on his strands, making him glow even more. He's not wrong, though—he is breathtaking.

"Isn't it my beauty that stole your attention to begin with?" Ivan continues, his tone unbothered, as if he's merely stating a fact.

Dorian's face hardens, his jaw tightening visibly. "Does he know?" he asks, his voice quieter now, but no less biting.

Ivan tilts his head slightly, feigning curiosity. "Does he know what?"

"Does your date know what you are? What you've done?" Dorian's words are sharp and loaded, a dagger aimed at Ivan's composure.

A sly smile curls Ivan's lips, and he steps closer, just enough to lower his voice but still let it carry. "Of course, he knows." He tilts his head, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "What happened between us is just that insignificant."

The room feels heavier, the air almost crackling with tension. Dorian's grip on his glass tightens, the knuckles of his hand paling, and for a moment, I think it might shatter under the weight of his fury.

Ivan's voice cuts through the tension like a blade, sharp and unyielding. His playful demeanor evaporates, replaced by a stormy intensity that sends a chill down my spine.

"I see the look in your eyes, Dorian," Ivan says, his tone measured, but the warning is unmistakable. "You don't own the world. Don't do something you might regret."

Dorian steps closer, his presence looming and dark. "I will not rest until I've shown you hell," he growls, his voice a low, menacing promise.

Ivan meets his glare head-on, unfazed. "Please," he spits, his voice suddenly laced with venom. "Every week, day, hour, and second in your presence was hell."

The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air. There's no hesitation, no wavering in his tone—it's conviction, pure and unshakable. And as much as I hate to admit it, I feel it too. He's right.

"You're a horrible person, Dorian," Ivan continues, his voice rising slightly, his chest heaving with suppressed emotion. "You deserve to die. And clearly, what I did last time wasn't enough to knock you off that self-righteous high horse of yours."

Dorian's face darkens, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he takes a step forward, the tension in his body coiling like a predator ready to strike.

Ivan doesn't back down. If anything, he steps into the confrontation, his presence growing larger, more defiant.

"If I can't do it," Ivan says, his voice cold and deliberate, "I'll find someone who can. I hate you, Dorian. And my initial goal was to live my life peacefully, to forget you. But now?" He leans in slightly, his next words delivered like a dagger to the chest.

 "Every time you cross my path, I will remind you that you are worthless." 

Ivan's voice slices through the escalating tension like a whip.

 "Zander!!!" he screams, his voice loud and commanding. It echoes across the room, drawing every eye toward us. Before either Dorian or I can react, Ivan releases Dorian's collar and steps back, his expression one of practiced vulnerability.

The reaction is instantaneous. A man, tall and imposing, storms toward us with the energy of a gathering storm. His dark eyes burn with fury, and his movements are deliberate, almost predatory. It's clear that this is Zander. His sheer presence demands attention, and the guests whisper in hushed tones as he closes the distance.

Ivan doesn't hesitate. He rushes into Zander's arms, burying his face in his chest as if seeking sanctuary. The shift is so quick it leaves me stunned—seconds ago, he was all fire and fury, and now he's soft and fragile, playing the role of the wronged lover flawlessly.

"Zander," Ivan says, his voice trembling just enough to sound pitiful. "I didn't do anything. He came to me—called me a dog in heat—and said you'd get tired of me once you knew about our past."

His words are loud, deliberate, calculated to be overheard. The crowd gasps, a wave of shocked murmurs rippling through the room.

Before I can even process what's happening, Zander strides forward, his movements sharp and unrelenting. He doesn't pause, doesn't hesitate—his fist connects with Dorian's jaw with a sickening crack, sending him sprawling to the floor.

Gasps echo louder now, and for a moment, the room freezes. All I can hear is the pounding of my heart as I stare at the scene, trying to comprehend it.

The moment is shattered by the frantic approach of the event's organizer, a rotund man in his sixties, sweating profusely as he hurries over. "Mr. Vale," he starts, his voice trembling, but Zander isn't done.

Without sparing the man a glance, Zander delivers a hard kick to Dorian's stomach. Dorian grunts in pain, doubling over on the floor.

"You invited me," Zander growls, his voice low and dangerous, "and one of your guests dares to disrespect my omega?"

The organizer stammers, his face pale. "Mr. Vale… I-I assure you—"

"Fix this," Zander cuts him off, his tone like ice. "Or don't bother inviting me again."

Then, as if the chaos hadn't just unfolded, he turns to Ivan, his expression softening as he wraps a protective arm around him. Ivan melts into the embrace, casting one last triumphant glance over his shoulder as Zander leads him away. And just before they vanish into the crowd, Ivan winks at me.

I'm rooted to the spot, my mind spinning. What just happened? Who is this Zander to command such authority, to openly humiliate someone like Dorian?

Dorian groans, pulling me out of my thoughts. I move to help him, but he slaps my hand away, his face twisted in anger and humiliation.

"Mr. Black," the organizer says, his voice now sharp with anger. "I can't believe you would create such a scene. Please leave."

Dorian tries to argue, his voice rising with indignation. "How dare you? He's the one who—"

"Mr. Black!" the organizer snaps, cutting him off. "This wouldn't have happened if you were civilized! Shall I call security?"

Dorian's jaw tightens, but he straightens, brushing himself off. "No, it's fine," he says coldly, his tone flat and dangerous.

He storms off without another word, leaving me scrambling to follow. My legs feel like lead as I trail behind him, my heart sinking. One thought loops in my mind, heavy and foreboding: tonight will not be a good night for me.