Chapter 3: Lines in the Sand

Lila hadn't intended to go to the gala. Not at first.

She'd planned to drown her frustration in a bottle of wine and maybe rage-text her best friend about how much of a bastard Jaxon Kane was. But then the invitation arrived.

A sleek black envelope, slid under her office door, sealed with a gold wax crest that screamed wealth and arrogance. No sender, no note—just an address and a time.

Jaxon.

The audacity of him.

The last thing she wanted was to play into his hands, but then she'd seen the headline: "Power Couple or Power Struggle? Sparks Fly Between Jaxon Kane and Lila Carter."

The article was a mess of speculation—photos from their tense meeting, quotes from anonymous sources, and a ridiculous narrative about their supposed "undeniable chemistry".

And Jaxon had invited her to his damn party?

She'd almost ignored it. Almost.

But then she'd thought about his smug face, about the way he probably expected her to ignore him, to back down. That wasn't going to happen.

If Jaxon wanted a game, she'd play it.

That's how she ended up here, in a ballroom dripping with crystal chandeliers and pretension, wearing a dress so sinful it should come with a warning label. She wasn't here to blend in. She was here to make a statement.

And judging by the way Jaxon was looking at her, she'd done exactly that.

The air between them buzzed with tension as she smirked up at him, still holding her drink. "Surprised to see me?"

His gaze was slow, deliberate, trailing down the length of her dress before locking onto her eyes. "Not at all. I was wondering if you had the guts to show up."

She took a measured sip of champagne, letting the bubbles fizz against her lips before speaking. "You sent the invitation, didn't you?"

His lips curled. "Did I?"

Her fingers tightened around the glass. "You're such a manipulative bastard."

He chuckled, dark and smooth. "You're here, aren't you?"

Before she could snap back, a well-dressed couple approached, greeting Jaxon like an old friend. Lila recognized the man—some developer with deep pockets and a reputation for buying out historic districts. Exactly the kind of people Jaxon aligned himself with.

"Jaxon, you always bring the most interesting guests," the woman purred, giving Lila a once-over that was equal parts curiosity and condescension.

Lila plastered on a smile. "Oh, I'm just here to see what destruction looks like up close."

The woman blinked, taken aback, but Jaxon only grinned. "She does have a way with words, doesn't she?"

Lila's nails dug into her palm as the couple drifted away. "You get off on this, don't you?" she hissed once they were alone again.

His expression didn't change. "On what?"

"Dragging me into your world. Controlling the narrative. Making me look like—like this." She gestured toward the party, the stares, the damn article. "Now everyone thinks I'm just another one of your conquests."

His smirk faded, and something dangerous flickered in his eyes. "If I wanted you to be my conquest, Lila, trust me—you'd know."

Her breath hitched, but she shoved the reaction down. "You don't get to decide how this plays out."

He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Neither do you."

The space between them was razor-thin, crackling with something sharp and electric. She should walk away. She should throw her drink in his face, make a scene, leave him standing here with nothing but that damn smirk.

But she didn't.

Instead, she let herself feel it—the heat radiating off him, the way his breath ghosted against her skin, the sheer wrongness of how much she wanted him.

Jaxon's hand brushed against her hip, barely a touch, but her whole body jolted like she'd been shocked.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, voice unsteady.

"Something I shouldn't," he murmured, his fingers teasing the edge of her dress, feather-light, just enough to make her shiver. "But then again... I think we crossed that line a long time ago."

Her pulse pounded. This was a mistake. A terrible, undeniable, perfect mistake.

His fingers slid lower, tracing the curve of her thigh, a teasing press through the slit of her dress. "Tell me to stop," he murmured.

Her breath caught, every nerve in her body screaming at her to move, to push him away—to do something.

But she didn't.

His lips brushed against her jaw, slow, deliberate, barely touching, but enough to make her knees weak. "Lila..."

A warning. A question. A dare.

She exhaled shakily. "I hate you."

His teeth grazed her skin, a sharp contrast to his slow movements. "No, you don't."

Her nails dug into his jacket. He was so hard beneath her touch—solid, immovable, everything she wanted to destroy but couldn't help craving.

His other hand found her waist, pulling her closer, until she could feel the heat of him against her stomach. "Say the word," he murmured. "Tell me to back off."

She should. She should.

But then his lips found the sensitive spot behind her ear, and she let out the softest gasp—barely a sound, but enough to make him groan low in his throat.

"Fuck," he muttered, his grip tightening. "You like this, don't you?"

Her cheeks burned. "Shut up."

His teeth nipped at her earlobe. "Make me."

That snapped something in her. With a frustrated growl, she yanked him down and crushed her mouth against his.

The kiss was fire and fury, all teeth and tongue and pent-up rage. His hands roamed greedily, palms skimming over the curves of her body, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of her hips as he walked her back until she hit the wall.

He swallowed her moan, his thigh slipping between hers, pressing up, right there—

She gasped, gripping his shoulders as a delicious heat pooled low in her belly. "Jaxon—"

"I know," he groaned, rolling his hips against her. "Fuck, Lila."

She was wet—soaked, aching, desperate for something she refused to name. His hands dragged up her sides, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts through the fabric, teasing, not quite touching where she needed him to—

A door clicked open down the hall.

Lila jolted, shoving him away, her breath ragged. Jaxon looked just as wrecked—lips swollen, pupils blown, chest rising and falling like he'd just run a marathon.

A long beat of silence stretched between them before he smirked, the heat in his eyes unmistakable. "I should ruin you."

She straightened her dress, leveling him with a glare. "You already have."

And with that, she turned and walked away, pulse still hammering, lips still tingling, thighs still trembling from the weight of what they'd just done.

This was war.

And for the first time, she wasn't sure who was winning.