Page 3 of Only Ever Mine

Scarlett shrugged, her eyes flicking over my face, like she was trying to figure me out.

“You’ve got that… presence,” she said, her tone casual, but there was something sharp underneath. “People like you—big personalities, big money—you just naturally take up space. Even when you’re not trying to.”

I couldn’t tell if she was complimenting me or calling me out, but the way she said it hit me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. No one had ever made me feel this… seen.

“And you?” I asked, leaning in slightly, my voice dropping lower. “Do you take up space?”

Her lips curved into a slow, teasing smile, equal parts invitation and challenge. “Only when it’s worth it,” she said, her voice like a dare.

The air between us shifted, thickened. For a moment, I forgot we were surrounded by hundreds of people.

All I could focus on was the way her green eyes seemed to pull me in, the way her scent—something soft and clean, with a hint of vanilla—wrapped around me like a tether.

“You’re interesting,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended.

Scarlett blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Interesting?”

“Most people here are predictable. You’re not.”

She looked at me for a long moment, her gaze unyielding. “Careful, Christian. I’m not sure you’d know what to do with someone who isn’t predictable.”

I leaned in just slightly, the corner of my mouth lifting in a smirk. “Try me.”

Her breath hitched, so softly I almost missed it. But I didn’t miss the way her pupils dilated or the way her lips parted, just barely.

She was affected, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

But before I could press further, she straightened, glancing at her watch.

“I should get back to work,” she said, her voice steady, but her cheeks were a touch pinker than before.

“Let me take you to dinner,” I said, surprising even myself.

Scarlett froze for a second, her expression unreadable. “Dinner?”

“Yes. You know, two people sitting across from each other, sharing good food, good wine…” I let the implication hang in the air.

She studied me like she was trying to decide whether I was serious or just playing a game. “I’ll think about it,” she said finally.

It wasn’t the answer I wanted, but it wasn’t a no. As she walked away with effortless confidence, I realized I couldn’t look away.

The night wore on. I stood there with a champagne flute in hand, scanning the crowd for any sign of Scarlett.

She’d retreated to the kitchen after our conversation, vanishing into the background like she was part of the staff, not the mastermind behind the evening’s extraordinary menu.

I found myself leaning subtly toward the ballroom doors, as if by sheer will I could catch another glimpse of her through the chaos. It was maddening.

“Christian Valen,” a familiar voice purred.

I turned to see a tall brunette in a slinky dress that probably cost more than most people’s mortgages.

She was a model—I vaguely recalled seeing her in an ad campaign for some luxury brand, though her name escaped me.

“You’ve been avoiding me all night,” she teased, her hand lightly brushing my arm. “What’s the matter? Am I losing my touch?”

On any other night, I might’ve smiled, leaned into the flirtation, and let it carry me wherever the evening took us.

But tonight was different. My head was somewhere else—no, with someone else.

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