Tonight

I stare out the window, the endless expanse of sky stretching out before me. The jet hums softly beneath us, a cocoon of luxury that still feels surreal to me. In my past life, I had wealth—being a successful model afforded me plenty. But this? This is an entirely different playing field. Private jets, chauffeurs, and whatever godforsaken number must be attached to the diamonds around my neck.

Speaking of which, when I'd asked him if the stones were real, his only response was a smirk that sent a shiver down my spine. I didn't press further—some questions don't need answers.

Still, curiosity burns through me now as I glance away from the window, my gaze settling on him. His presence fills the space effortlessly, as if he was born for this level of luxury. He's seated across from me, impossibly calm, his long legs stretched out like he owns the world—and maybe he does.

"This is the part where you tell me where we're going," I say, breaking the silence. My voice is steady, but the way his attention snaps to me makes my stomach flip.

He chuckles, low and rich, the sound curling around me like smoke. God, that laugh does something to me. It's maddening.

"Charity event. You're my date," he says casually, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"For the first date?" I raise an eyebrow, trying not to let my amusement show too much.

"Firstly, it's a nice venue with what may be great snacks and drinks. Secondly, I get to show you off hanging on my arm. Third, I get to impress you. And fourth—" his gaze slides down my figure briefly before meeting my eyes again, "—I get an excuse to put my hand on your waist all night."

His words, paired with that lazy shrug, are enough to make my cheeks warm. I cough out a laugh, pretending I'm unaffected, but my pulse betrays me, quickening under his heavy-lidded gaze.

"Bold of you," I manage to say, though my voice is a little breathier than I'd like.

"Only for you," he replies smoothly, a sly smile tugging at his lips.

I shift in my seat, torn between excitement and unease. The idea of being on his arm all night is thrilling, but a small part of me worries about running into Dorian. The thought of my ex makes my stomach churn, though I doubt Dorian could do much to me now. Not with this man beside me—feels untouchable, like he's on par with Dorian financially, if not leagues ahead.

Still, there's something I need to address. I tilt my head, studying him. "Speaking of which," I say, "I still don't know your name."

He arches a brow, his lips quirking. "A bit late for that, don't you think?"

"I can't keep calling you Mr. Mysterious Handsome Alpha," I say with mock seriousness. "Or do you prefer Mr. BigBadWolf57?"

That laugh again—low and sinful, like he knows exactly what it does to me.

"It's Zander," he says finally. "Zander D. Vale."

Zander. The name suits him in a way that makes my chest tighten. If I tried to name him myself, I don't think I could have come up with something better.

"What's the D stand for?" I ask, tilting my head.

"That information is not free," he says, his tone dripping with suggestion.

I roll my eyes, though the heat in my cheeks betrays me. "Fine, keep your secrets." I glance back out the window, pretending his presence doesn't make the air around me feel electric.

Zander laughs again, and I close my eyes briefly, savoring the sound.

The silence that follows is charged, the kind that makes my skin prickle with awareness. I can feel his gaze on me, heavy and unrelenting, and when I finally look back at him, his expression is unreadable.

"Ivan," he says, his voice softer now, but no less commanding.

"Yes?"

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he studies me, his eyes dark and intense. 

"Tonight, you're mine."

The words send a shiver down my spine, equal parts thrilling and terrifying. I swallow, my heart racing.

"And if I don't want to be?" I challenge, though my voice falters slightly.

His smirk deepens, his gaze never wavering. "Then convince me otherwise."

The tension between us is palpable now, crackling like a live wire. I don't look away, even as heat rushes through me, my resolve faltering under the weight of his stare.

This is dangerous territory, and we both know it. But the way his eyes darken, like he's daring me to push him further, makes it impossible to care.

The air feels heavy, charged with an unspoken tension that neither of us is willing to break. Zander's gaze pins me in place, and I find myself leaning back into my seat as if to create some distance—though there's no escaping the intensity of his presence.

"I'm not that easy, you know," I say, my voice lower than I intend. The words are meant to sound defiant, but they come out more like an invitation.

His lips curve into a slow, knowing smile, and he leans back in his seat, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. "Oh, I know. That's part of the fun, Ivan."