A Dance with the Devil

 The air in the ballroom was thick with the scent of roses and something darker—something forbidden. The chandeliers cast golden halos on polished marble, but the shadows clung stubbornly to the corners, whispering secrets of their own.

Isla had been warned about men like him. Men with midnight eyes and a smirk that curled at the edges like a promise. But warnings had never been her strong suit. She had always been drawn to the fire, even when it burned.

And he was fire incarnate.

“Dance with me.” His voice was a velvet command, sliding over her skin like a whispered sin.

Isla’s pulse stuttered, but she tilted her chin, feigning a composure she did not feel. “I don’t even know your name.”

His smile was slow, deliberate. “You will.”

His hand found hers, strong and calloused, pulling her into the waltz. The world blurred as he led her across the floor with an effortless grace, each step pressing her closer to something unnamed, something dangerous.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she murmured, though her body betrayed her, molding against his as if she were crafted to fit him.

“But you are.” His lips brushed the shell of her ear, igniting a trail of shivers down her spine. “Tell me, Isla—do you always do what you shouldn’t?”

She had no answer for that.

The music slowed, but his hold did not. His thumb brushed the inside of her wrist, a touch so light yet devastatingly possessive.

“You feel it too,” he murmured. It wasn’t a question.

She did. The undeniable pull, like gravity, like fate. A silent war raged inside her—logic against desire, fear against reckless longing.

His fingers traced the line of her jaw, tilting her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Run if you must.”

She knew she should. Every ounce of reason screamed at her to flee, to break free of the spell he was weaving around her. But instead, she stayed.

Because for the first time in her life, she wanted to know what it felt like to fall.