Chapter 7: A Dance with the Devil

The ride to the event was quiet, tension thick in the air.

Isla stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past, trying to ignore the way her heart pounded. Alessandro sat beside her, perfectly composed, one hand resting on his thigh, the other holding a glass of whiskey from the limousine's built-in bar.

"You're nervous," he said, breaking the silence.

She turned to him with a scoff. "I don't get nervous."

He smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Lying already, cara mia?"

Isla exhaled, shifting in her seat. "I just don't like not knowing what to expect."

Alessandro studied her for a moment before setting his drink aside. "It's a charity gala. You'll smile, nod at the right people, let them believe we're madly in love. And if anyone asks about us, you tell them what they want to hear."

"Which is?"

His gaze darkened. "That you adore me. That you couldn't resist me." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. "That you belong to me."

Isla's pulse jumped. "You really enjoy playing the role of the possessive husband, don't you?"

"I enjoy winning," he corrected smoothly. "And tonight, we play to win."

Before she could respond, the car pulled up to the grand hotel entrance. Flashing lights filled the space as photographers lined the sidewalk, eager to capture the night's most powerful guests.

Her fingers curled into her lap. This was it.

The driver opened the door, and Alessandro stepped out first, extending a hand to her. Isla hesitated for only a second before placing hers in his, allowing him to help her out.

The moment she emerged, a wave of cameras turned toward them.

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Alessandro Romano, the untouchable billionaire, had arrived—with a woman at his side. And not just any woman. His fiancée.

He pulled her close, his hand settling possessively on the small of her back. "Smile," he murmured.

Isla plastered on the most dazzling, confident smile she could manage, lifting her chin as if she'd been born into this world of wealth and power.

Whispers followed them as they walked up the carpeted steps.

Who is she?

When did this happen?

I thought Alessandro didn't do relationships…

The ballroom was bathed in golden light, elegant and opulent, filled with men in sharp suits and women in designer gowns. Servers glided through the room, offering champagne on silver trays.

Isla barely had a moment to take it all in before Alessandro leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear.

"Remember, play the part," he whispered.

Before she could react, he pressed a kiss to her temple—slow, deliberate, just enough to make her body betray her. She stiffened, hating the way warmth spread through her chest.

It's just an act, she reminded herself.

But the smirk on Alessandro's lips as he pulled away told her he knew exactly what he was doing.

And worst of all?

It was working.

—

The night blurred into a series of introductions, polite laughter, and carefully measured words. Alessandro guided her through the crowd with effortless ease, never once letting go of her.

She met business moguls, politicians, and socialites, all of whom looked at her with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

"So, Isla," a tall blonde woman drawled, her lips curved in amusement. "How did you manage to tame the infamous Alessandro Romano?"

Isla barely had time to respond before Alessandro tightened his grip on her waist, drawing her against him.

"She didn't have to tame me," he said smoothly. "I chose her."

A ripple of approval went through the small group, but Isla's stomach twisted.

It wasn't real.

None of this was real.

But Alessandro played the game so flawlessly that for a moment—even she almost believed it.

—

It wasn't until later in the night, when the music softened and couples moved toward the dance floor, that she felt truly trapped.

Alessandro turned to her, extending a hand. "Dance with me."

She hesitated. "I—"

A challenge flickered in his dark eyes. "Are you going to make me dance alone, cara mia?"

He knew she couldn't refuse. Not with so many eyes watching.

Swallowing hard, she placed her hand in his, allowing him to guide her onto the dance floor.

The moment he pulled her close, heat spread through her like wildfire.

One hand pressed against the small of her back, the other held her fingers in his, commanding but not forceful. Their bodies moved in sync, gliding effortlessly across the floor.

To the outside world, they looked perfect. A couple in love. A woman utterly enchanted by her fiancé.

But only Isla could feel the tension crackling between them.

"You're playing your role well," Alessandro murmured, his lips barely an inch from hers.

"You sound surprised."

His grip on her waist tightened slightly. "I'm not. I knew you'd be perfect."

Her heart pounded. She didn't want to be perfect. She wanted to remain unaffected.

But the way he held her, the way he looked at her as if she were the only woman in the room—it was dangerous.

And when his fingers traced a slow, deliberate path up her spine, she realized something terrifying.

She wasn't just playing the game anymore.

She was in it.

And she didn't know how to win.