Chapter 9 – A Dangerous Game

(Jasmine's POV)

I barely made it to the bathroom before the breath I had been holding finally escaped me.

My hands gripped the edge of the sink as I stared at my reflection—lips parted, cheeks flushed, eyes wide with something I didn't want to name.

I felt hot all over, my body still tingling from where his hands had touched me, from the way his voice had wrapped around me like a slow-burning fire.

Who was he?

And why did he look at me like that?

Like he wanted to devour me whole.

I needed to leave.

I grabbed my phone, fingers shaking slightly as I typed out a quick text.

Jasmine: Mira, I want to leave. Meet me at the gate.

She responded almost immediately.

Mira: Are you okay??

Jasmine: Yeah. Just need to go home. Meet me outside in five.

I inhaled deeply, pressing my fingers to my temples. I just needed to breathe, calm down, forget everything that happened tonight.

Maybe this was a mistake.

No—this was definitely a mistake.

I smoothed my dress, squared my shoulders, and turned to leave.

And that's when I saw him.

Waiting.

Right outside the bathroom door.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat.

He was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, looking at me like he had been expecting me all along.

But there was nothing casual about the way his eyes burned into me.

I took a small, hesitant step back.

"Going somewhere?" His voice was silk and sin, dark and smooth, sliding over me like a caress.

"I—" My throat went dry. "I was just—"

But before I could finish, he moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

One second, there was space between us.

The next—there wasn't.

His hands gripped my waist, backing me up against the wall before I could think, before I could breathe.

My back hit the cold surface, and he was there—all heat, all power, all raw, unrelenting force.

He pressed one hand against the wall beside my head, his other hand spanning my waist, fingers gripping the fabric of my dress like he was holding himself back.

Like he wanted to rip it off me.

"I—" My words died on my lips as his body pressed closer.

"You're running from me," he murmured, his breath hot against my skin.

I swallowed hard. "I'm not—"

His fingers tightened on my waist.

"Liar," he whispered.

A shiver ran down my spine.

"You were in my arms five minutes ago," he continued, his voice low, teasing, his thumb stroking slow circles over my hip. "You let me touch you. You let me hold you. And now you want to run?"

My breath hitched.

"Let me go," I whispered.

His lips tilted into a slow, dangerous smirk.

"But I don't want to," he murmured.

His hand slid lower, barely grazing the side of my thigh through the slit of my dress.

I gasped, heat pooling in my stomach, my fingers curling against the wall behind me.

He was too close, too warm, too much.

I turned my face away, my voice unsteady. "I don't even know your name."

Silence.

For a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer.

Then—he leaned in, his lips brushing just over my jawline, his breath hot against my ear.

"Draven," he murmured.

The name slithered over my skin, curling deep in my chest like a secret I was never meant to know.

Draven.

It suited him.

Dark. Dangerous.

Unforgettable.

I sucked in a breath, forcing myself to focus. "Well, Draven," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, "you need to move."

He chuckled, the sound low and rich, like he found me amusing.

"Do I?"

His fingers flexed against my waist, his hand sliding up my ribs, slow, torturous.

I sucked in a sharp breath.

"You're trembling," he mused, his fingers tracing the curve of my hip, teasing the bare skin between the slits of my dress. "Is it fear? Or something else?"

His thumb skimmed the underside of my breast, barely there, a whisper of a touch.

I let out a shaky exhale.

"I don't—I don't know what you want from me," I whispered.

Draven exhaled a low chuckle, his nose skimming along my cheek.

"What do you think I want?"

His fingers tightened on my waist, pressing me firmly against the wall.

I couldn't think.

I couldn't breathe.

I needed to get out of here.

I pushed against his chest, my hands meeting solid muscle, trying to ignore how good it felt to touch him.

"I have to go," I whispered, my voice breaking.

His grip tightened for half a second, his silver eyes dark and unreadable.

Then—he let me go.

Just like that.

His touch disappeared, but the ghost of it lingered on my skin.

I took a shaky step back, my breath coming in uneven gasps.

He watched me, his expression unreadable, his chest rising and falling heavily.

"I need to leave," I whispered.

Something flickered behind his eyes.

But he nodded.

"Then go."

I turned and ran.

Mira was waiting for me at the gate, arms crossed, brows furrowed with concern.

"Jas!" she called out when she saw me. "What the hell happened? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I didn't answer.

I just grabbed her arm, pulled her toward the car, and slid into the passenger seat.

Mira glanced at me as she started the engine. "That bad, huh?"

I pressed my fingers against my temple, my skin still burning from Draven's touch.

"Let's just go," I whispered.

Mira didn't argue.

She pulled out of the driveway, leaving the golden lights of the mansion behind.

I exhaled slowly, staring at my hands in my lap, trying to convince myself that whatever had happened tonight—whatever Draven was doing to me—

It was over.

I had left.

I was going home.

I was free.

But deep down, I knew the truth.

This wasn't over.

Not even close.

And I had a feeling Draven wouldn't let me go so easily.