Chapter 10

The moment Sloane walked away, Vincent knew two things.

One, he had never met a woman who could play the game as flawlessly as she could.

And two, he was going to make her pay for it.

Not now. Not here. But soon.

He set her untouched champagne flute down on a passing tray, watching her from across the room as she moved effortlessly through the crowd. She was too good at this. Too good at flashing a perfectly timed smile, at brushing her fingers against another man's arm in a way that looked innocent to anyone who didn't know better.

But Vincent knew better.

She was provoking him. Testing how far she could push before he snapped.

She was about to find out.

By the time he caught up to her, she was standing near the grand piano, deep in conversation with someone who had been watching her all night.

A man in his forties, European, powerful. Vincent recognized him instantly. Stefan Edgar. Billionaire investor, and an old friend of the Montgomerys.

Vincent's irritation sharpened.

Stefan was charming, charismatic. But he was also the kind of man who liked his trophies young and obedient.

And Sloane was neither.

Vincent stepped in smoothly, his hand falling to the small of her back.

Sloane didn't flinch, didn't stiffen, didn't even look at him. She simply took another sip of her wine, as if his presence was irrelevant.

Stefan glanced between them, smile shifting slightly. "Ah, Saint-Clair," he greeted, extending a hand. "I was just telling Sloane how stunning she looks tonight."

Vincent shook his hand, his grip just slightly too firm. "She does." He glanced down at her. "Shame you'll have to find another conversation partner, though."

Sloane finally looked up, her eyes gleaming with mock innocence. "Am I being dismissed?"

Vincent's lips curved, but there was no amusement in his gaze. "Yes."

A flicker of something unreadable passed through her eyes. Challenge, intrigue, maybe even anticipation.

She set her glass down. "Excuse me, Stefan."

The man chuckled softly, shaking his head as he watched them walk away. "Saint-Clair," he called after him, "I hope you know what you've gotten yourself into."

Vincent smirked. "I do."

Sloane remained silent as he led her toward a quieter part of the estate, away from the lingering stares and curious whispers.

The moment they were alone, she stopped abruptly, forcing him to face her.

"Jealous, Vincent?" she murmured, tilting her head.

Vincent didn't blink. "Careful, sweetheart."

Her lips curved. "Or what?"

His gaze darkened.

Sloane took a slow step closer, her perfume a dangerous mix of champagne and expensive rebellion.

"You think you can control me?" she whispered, voice silk and steel.

Vincent exhaled a quiet laugh, his fingers twitching at his sides.

"I don't need to," he murmured. "You already know who you belong to."

Her breath caught, just for a second, just long enough for him to see it.

Then, she smiled.

Slow. Deadly.

She reached up, straightened his tie, smoothed down his lape, like she was cleaning up a mess she had made.

Then she leaned in, lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

"Keep telling yourself that, darling."

And just like that, she walked away.

Vincent exhaled a slow breath, watching her disappear into the crowd. He didn't move as she walked away. Didn't turn. Didn't call her back.

He simply watched. Waited.

Because she would look back. She had to.

Sloane Montgomery might have perfected the art of indifference, but Vincent had spent years dismantling carefully built illusions. And hers?

Hers was already cracking.

Three. Two. One—

And there it was.

Just before she slipped back into the throng of guests, she turned, just slightly, just enough for her gaze to meet his.

A second too long. A flicker too telling.

Vincent smirked. Got you.

Sloane's lips curved as if she had won this round, but he knew better.

She was fighting him, yes. But she was also fighting herself.

And losing.

Vincent exhaled a slow breath, forcing himself to relax the tension in his shoulders. She was intoxicating, maddening. And completely unaware of just how much power she wielded over him.

But that wouldn't last. No, he would make sure of that.

A soft laugh caught his attention, and he turned slightly, only to find Emma watching him with far too much amusement.

His cousin sipped from her champagne flute, her dark red gown shimmering under the chandelier light. "You look like a man who just realized he's in way over his head."

Vincent sighed, adjusting his cuff. "Spare me the commentary, Emma."

Emma tilted her head, her grin widening. "You're enjoying this."

Vincent arched a brow. "I don't enjoy being tested."

Emma hummed. "Then why do you look so damn entertained?"

Vincent didn't answer.

Because she wasn't wrong.

Emma smirked. "You know, I like her."

Vincent exhaled a quiet laugh, taking a sip of his whiskey. "That makes one of us."

Emma shook her head, watching Sloane disappear into the crowd. "Oh, you like her. You just don't know what the hell to do with her."

Vincent's grip tightened around his glass.

That was the problem, wasn't it?

Sloane was a challenge, a beautifully reckless, impossible challenge. And Vincent had spent his entire life winning.

He wasn't about to start losing now.

So let her run. Let her test him. Let her think she had control.

Because soon enough, he was going to shatter that illusion.

And when he did? He was going to make sure she never wanted to run again.