Page 64 of Significant
I take the tickets in my hands. Paris. The gala is in two days. It’s officially the end of the racing season. People say you’re always one decision away from changing your life. But I don’t think you can choose who you love. I didn’t choose to fall hard, deep, fast, for Aaron. He is a part of me. He completed me. He is more powerful than my free will.
We belong like magnets.
A positive and a negative. We aren’t perfect. We’re equal to our chaos, but light can’t exist without darkness.
And together we found our balance.
I run toward my window, open it, and look at the street. His car is still here. I haven’t missed him. I spot Aaron walking under the white snow. I want to talk about the painting, I want to talk about everything he has done for me, but the only word I manage to say is—
“Everlasting!”
“Everlasting.” He mouths, his lips curving into a smile.
The Villain
Paris, the city of love.
A Prize Giving Ceremony.
The perfect mixture between money, power and… love.
I take Aaron’s hand, leading me out of the limo. My body is rebelling. Legs shaking. Heart bouncing. He gives me a comforting smile, and we walk side by side toward the entrance. Do you know that surreal moment when everything feels so pure and perfect? When it couldn’t be possibly true? I went to Paris, ready to fight for the man I cannot live without. The man who waited for me alongside his limo, after eight p.m., even if he said he wouldn’t. I have put my hair into a tight ponytail. I’m dressed in a long raven black satin dress with a split on the side. I wear an elegant cleavage; the tight fabric of the dress is showing each of my curves, revealing my body shape underneath. A red lipstick, with an eyeliner touch, I feel like Grace Kelly. After all, fairy tale princesses have a ball to meet a prince.
But I’ve never been a princess. I’m just a woman.
I look over at Aaron playing the prince, wearing his tuxedo, his arm wrapped around my waist looking handsome with an empyrean superiority. I’m dazzled when his eyes explore my whole body, savoring me fully, not tiring of the view of me. But it isn’t just lust, it is something else. Something powerful. I can see myself, mirroring through his cerulean eyes. I feel beautiful—just the way I am.
But Aaron isn’t a prince, either. He is a fallen god.
The mortal and the god. It sounds like Greek mythology—and we know how those end up.Together, we’re equally powerful and destructive.
We passed the whole ride to the gala with a desire to kiss, caress, stroke each other. But I don’t want to rush it. I want to crave him—all night. I want our attraction to sparkle all around the room for everyone to witness it. I want them to know: Aaron LeBeau’s soul belongs to me. It’s mental torture, and the more we suffer, the more our pleasure is going to explode into fireworks. Tonight, I want him to crave me until he reaches his torment. I need to know where we stand. If we belong in a fairy tale or a Greek tragedy.
Once we enter, it feels like a red-carpet event. The huge chandeliers and the seventeen-century French architecture are owning the room. This event is like a monarchy. The elite are sipping expensive champagne, women wear their most distinguished dresses, hors d’oeuvres are served with a French service. It’s a first-class happening with the most valuable guests, a mix of celebrities, businessmen, and investors. I’ve been to this kind of event before—with the wrong man by my side.It’s a universe where money is the center of every discussion, when people smile at you depending on your net worth, your accomplishments, or who you’re accompanying. Politeness is required to hide how this world is fake. It’s a competition off the track.
A competition in which Aaron excels. He claimed first place and exudes charisma. Charisma that people in this room are breathing and envying.
“Everyone is staring,” I whisper, a part of me enjoying this.
He connects my body to his chest, a possessive arm encircled around my waist, claiming my lips in front of the crowd with raw hunger. That’s a thing I love about him. Wolf isn’t afraid to go for what he wants. He isn’t afraid to allege me as his in front of all the crowd by stealing a kiss. He doesn’t care what people think of him, and that’s incredibly sexy.
“Well, that’s probably because I’m the lucky bastard who won the world championship, and have by far the most beautiful woman in the room by my side.”
“Maybe I’m the lucky one.” I play with my lower lip, biting it, drawing his attention to it.
“Is it a competition?” He raises his eyebrow.
“No, I had my fair share of bets and games.” I chuckle, but behind my playful tone is the truth. I don’t want games to come against us. I don’t want an agreement. I want something real.
“You’re right. Same team? No games. Just the truth,” he adds, as if he has read my thoughts.
He furrows his eyebrows, taking a step closer to me, magnetic electricity invading us. “Elle, I—” He contemplates my gaze, a rush of emotions battling in his eyes, and I’m in a haze. His confidence vanishes, replaced by vulnerability—the one he has when he is about to show his feelings.
I gasp for air, and when he’s about to speak, his gaze drifts to something else entirely. And what’s left of him is obscurity. His eyes become onyx and stygian. His veins throb in his neck, his full lips become narrow, conveying his revulsion.
I turn around to find what is causing him such enmity. In the middle of the crowd, there is one man standing like a rock alone, hands in his pocket, his strong stature showing his supremacy. André LeBeau. His black raven eyes are stuck on his son, a dry smirk spreading on his face, his square jaw up in pride. The two men are caught in a staring warfare. A war of ice and fire. Aaron struggles to contain his annihilating feelings, while André is calm, not showing an ounce of emotion.
“Aaron?” I call out to him, but he doesn’t move. It feels like a wall stands between us.
