Chapter 30 – A Step Into the Trap

The venue was breathtaking—grand chandeliers cast golden light over the towering ceilings, illuminating the curated pieces of Rylan's private collection. Art critics, business elites, and collectors mingled, their conversations blending into a soft hum beneath the elegant classical music playing in the background.

And then, Elian walked in.

The air shifted.

All at once, gazes turned toward him—admiring, envious, curious. It was inevitable. Elian Volkov was a celebrity, a name people whispered about, a face they longed to see up close.

His tailored black suit hugged his frame perfectly, the contrast making his emerald-green eyes gleam like rare jewels under the golden light. His cherry-red lips, a soft yet striking shade, made him look almost untouchable—a masterpiece among masterpieces.

Yet despite the admiration, despite the awe-struck glances, Elian felt one gaze burn hotter than the rest.

Rylan.

The weight of his stare was suffocating, pressing against Elian like an invisible force. He didn't even have to turn to know where the man stood.

Still, he glanced up—and met his gaze.

Rylan Daemon Asano stood near the entrance, watching—waiting.

Unlike the others who admired from a distance, Rylan's stare was different. It wasn't admiration. It wasn't simple attraction.

It was possession.

His ruby eyes traced over every detail—the sharpness of Elian's jaw, the curve of his lips, the way his suit hugged his body. Like he was committing every inch of him to memory.

Elian forced himself to remain composed, letting his years of acting take over.

At his side, Taro was oblivious to the silent war happening in glances.

"This is insane," Taro said, eyes wide as he admired the gallery. "Sir's collection is legendary. I can't believe I'm even here."

Elian hummed in response, only half-listening.

Taro nudged him playfully. "See? Aren't you glad I made you come?"

Elian smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes. He wasn't sure if glad was the right word.

A shadow approached.

And then, a smooth voice—low, deliberate, dangerous.

"I see you finally accepted my invitation."

Elian turned, meeting Rylan's piercing gaze. Up close, the intensity of his stare was even more overwhelming.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Elian offered a practiced smile. "It would've been rude to ignore such a generous invitation."

Rylan's lips curved slightly, though his eyes never softened. "Generous? No, Elian. It was inevitable."

The words sent a chill down Elian's spine.

This wasn't just an exhibition.

This was a game.

And he was already trapped in it.