Power Battles

Rosaline's POV

Adam's office was always cold.

Too clean. Too ordered. Too deliberate.

But today, it felt suffocating.

I stepped inside without knocking, the door clicking shut behind me with a finality that echoed louder than it should've.

He didn't look up from the report in his hand.

"You didn't say excuse me," he said flatly.

"You didn't say I couldn't barge in."

He sighed and set the papers down, his jaw already tight. "If this is about earlier—"

"It's absolutely about earlier," I snapped. "You left me out of a meeting I had every right to attend."

"I had my reasons."

"Which you didn't share. Again."

He stood, slowly. "I didn't want you near him."

"Right. So you picked Sam instead."

His silence was answer enough.

I stepped closer, crossing the polished marble floor with sharp, even strides. "You trust Sam over me now?"

"That's not what this is."

"Then what is it, Adam?" I hissed. "Because from where I stood, she was in my place."

His eyes darkened. "She doesn't matter."

"Then why was she smirking like she knew something I didn't?"

The table between us groaned as I slammed my palms against it.

"And then your precious client what was that? You let him kiss my hand like I was some… some relic."

"I didn't let him."

"No? Because you stood there and said nothing."

His voice dropped to something deeper rough, barely restrained. "You think I didn't want to tear his throat out when he touched you?"

I froze.

The tension snapped into stillness.

"I saw the way he looked at you," he continued. "Like you were for the taking."

"And you've never looked at me like that?" I whispered.

"I've never looked at you like I didn't care what it would cost."

I moved fast. He moved faster.

And then we collided.

It wasn't a kiss. Not at first.

It was punishment.

It was Adam's hand gripping my waist like a challenge, mine fisting into his shirt like I wanted to tear the control right off him. His lips crashed into mine with the force of withheld years cold, unyielding. My fire flared to meet it.

He spun me around, slamming me against the edge of his desk.

The wood groaned. Papers scattered.

"You think I don't feel it?" He growled, lips brushing my ear. "Every time you walk into a room, like the flame knows it owns me?"

I shoved him back, breathing hard. "Then why hide it? Why hide me?"

His hands slammed down on the desk on either side of me, caging me in. "Because I lose control when I look at you."

"Then lose it."

He grabbed me again, and this time the kiss wasn't cold.

It was molten.

Teeth clashed. Tongues tangled. My nails scraped down his chest, dragging at buttons. His hands tangled in my hair, tilting my head as he devoured my mouth like it was the only truth he believed in.

I pulled him closer. Closer.

And then we heard a CRACK.

The desk beneath us gave way, one of the legs splitting clean off from the pressure.

We crashed with it, tangled and breathless, landing in a sprawl of shattered wood and papers.

He looked at me,truly looked at me with the eyes wild, red bleeding through silver.

"You drive me insane," he said, voice hoarse.

"Then stop pretending I'm a weakness," I replied, panting. "You're the one who breaks things when you get too close."

His mouth crashed into mine again this time hotter, hungrier, and more desperate.

We kissed like we were drowning, like this fight had always been a foreplay neither of us could afford to admit.

His hand slid beneath my shirt, fingers burning where they touched. Mine gripped the back of his neck, nails digging in not gentle. Possessive.

"Say it," I whispered.

"Say what?"

"That I'm yours."

He exhaled like the word hurt.

"You've always been."

___________

The remnants of our earlier storm still hung in the air.

Adam's office was half-shattered his desk split at the side, papers strewn like confessions, and the corner lamp crooked at a guilty angle. One of his shirt buttons rested on the floor beside the broken table leg, a silent reminder of how fast self-control could come undone between us.

I stood near the window, smoothing my hair into something passable, as Adam buttoned his sleeves in calculated silence. Neither of us had spoken since the last kiss. We didn't need to.

But silence didn't mean peace.

It meant something was about to interrupt it.

And right on cue, the knock came.

Adam didn't answer.

His assistant, Marcus, pushed the door open and took one full step into the chaos before halting abruptly.

His eyes swept the room.

First at the cracked desk.

Then at me.

Then at Adam shirt still slightly wrinkled, jaw locked.

A long pause.

To his credit, he recovered quickly. "I—uh—received this by private courier, sir. It's… sealed."

He held out an envelope wrapped in thick parchment, with stitched edges and a black wax seal that gleamed with a crimson insignia.

Adam took it wordlessly.

I didn't need to see the symbol to know what it was.

Marcus cleared his throat. "Should I—uh—send for maintenance?"

"No," Adam said coldly. "Shut the door."

Marcus disappeared faster than a man fleeing a crime scene.

Adam cracked the seal.

Inside were two identical invitations.

Folded with precision. Heavy parchment. Written in crimson ink.

You are cordially invited to a curated gathering of influence and peacekeeping alliance, hosted in the historic Sangré Marée Estate.

Black tie. No bloodshed. Bring whomever you please.

Separate invitations enclosed. Your names were requested.

—A.

He handed me one without looking.

I stared at it, heart thudding not from fear.

From the name signed at the bottom.

"The vampire," I said. "The one from the meeting."

Adam nodded, eyes still on the paper.

"A fundraiser?"

"On paper," he replied. "In truth? A masquerade for alliances, flaunting power under the illusion of peace."

"And we're both invited separately."

He finally looked at me. "Which was intentional."

Of course it was.

A test.

Another one.

I folded the invitation carefully and slipped it into my coat.

"Then we'll both go."

He stiffened slightly. "With whom?"

I shrugged. "Nathan and I still owe each other coffee."

Adam's mouth twitched—just slightly.

"You're going to wear diamonds and drag a mortal into a den of vampires because of coffee?"

I stepped toward him, the broken desk between us.

"You're the one who let another woman introduce us as fiancés, remember?"

He said nothing.

I smiled sweetly. "Don't worry. I'll behave."

He turned toward the door, tone like stone. "So will I."

———/—

The car pulled to a slow halt outside the mansion gates, its wheels crunching against pale cobblestones flecked with old silver.

The Sangré Marée estate was carved from time itself, with gothic arches wrapped in blood ivy, walls weathered and reborn, and every stone whispering old secrets. Pillars of veined marble rose like ancient sentinels, bathed in candlelight and glamoured mist. Lanterns floated just above eye level, casting a golden sheen that glimmered across the entire drive.

As the door was opened for me, I stepped out into another world.

Nathan followed, adjusting the sleeves of his crisp black tux. "So… I'm guessing this isn't a rooftop café?"

I gave him a faint smile. "Only if the rooftop serves blood instead of espresso."

He paused, then laughed nervously, half in jest, half wondering if I was serious.

The cool night air curled against my skin like a whispered warning. But I didn't shiver.

My silver gown clung to me like light, sleek silk, plunging at the front, the back entirely open save for the line of the soul pendant resting between my shoulder blades. A thigh-high slit revealed the diamond-studded stockings that glinted as I moved. The rubies at my ears, bloodred and ancient, flashed against the maroon curve of my lips. I wore no crown.

But I walked like one had been forged in flame and memory for me alone.

The mansion doors opened without a single hand raised.

Inside, the ballroom stretched like a dream, lined in bone and gold. Domed ceilings, vaulted windows. Light spilled from chandeliers shaped like constellations, each crystal shard suspended midair by enchantment. Music floated from an unseen quartet something haunting, stringed, and otherworldly.

Humans in sleek gowns laughed over champagne.

Vampires stood among them in charm-wrapped silence, their hunger veiled behind expensive suits and practiced smiles.

Nathan offered his arm again, uncertain. "Should I be worried someone's going to try and bite me?"

I smirked. "Just look expensive and untouchable. They'll assume you're not worth the trouble."

He exhaled. "I feel severely underdressed."

"You're not." I squeezed his arm lightly. "You're with me."

That was when the crowd shifted.

And the host arrived.

A man with moon-pale skin and a voice like silk folded in velvet descended the staircase. His smile was sculpted, elegant, and sharp, and his presence rippled through the room like a shadow slipping into candlelight.

"Miss Rosaline Ainsworth," he said warmly, his voice carrying just enough to hush nearby conversation.

His bow was shallow but precise.

"You honor my halls."

I tilted my head with the grace of practiced nobility. "Thank you for the invitation."

He offered his arm with courtly precision. "Allow me to escort you to your table."

I accepted, my fingers just brushing his.

Nathan followed closely, eyebrows slightly raised, clearly re-evaluating the man who had just referred to me with a surname I hadn't used in years.

As we made our way across the ballroom, the air shifted.

Whispers trailed behind us like perfume.

I didn't flinch, nor did I slow down.

I walked like every tile had been laid for me. Then I felt the pull.

Adam.

My gaze snapped up to the west alcove of the room.

He stood against a pillar of black stone, one hand casually resting in his coat pocket, the other holding a wineglass he hadn't touched. He wore black tailored perfectly to his form, his shirt open just enough to show the faint scar at his collarbone, his sleeves rolled to his forearms, his shoulders stiff.

Beside him, Kathy stood draped in crimson silk, all elegance and pride, her hand lightly resting on his arm.

She looked stunning. But he wasn't looking at her. He was looking at me.

Our eyes locked like magnets crashing across a great divide, but he did so without blinking. But I saw it.

The clench of his jaw. The flare of quiet fury. The subtle shift in his stance as if it took everything in him not to move.

The host's voice reached me again, low and amused. "Quite the entrance, Miss Ainsworth."

I smiled without turning. "Some things were meant to be watched."