Marcus's POV
A surge of anger and jealousy coursed through me like wildfire as I watched Camilla dance with that masked stranger.
My grip on the glass tightened, the delicate crystal threatening to shatter under the pressure of my emotions.
It was infuriating to see her in the arms of another man, moving with such grace and intimacy. She was supposed to be mine, and yet, at that moment, it felt like I was losing her.
Camilla was mine. She was my property. I fucking paid for her presence and only I had the right to do whatever it was that I wanted with her.
The other guests seemed unfamiliar to my inner turmoil, but to me, it felt like the world had come crashing down.
Each step they took together felt like a dagger to my flesh, and I struggled to maintain a facade of composure. But inside, I was seething with rage, a tempest of emotions threatening to overwhelm me.
The man made her happy. She made it too obvious. And with what her family did to me, she didn't deserve to have that feeling. Not even for a second.
After the dance, the sight of other men fawning over Camilla only added fuel to the fire. "Camilla, you look stunning tonight," one of them remarked, his eyes lingering on her with admiration.
"Thank you," Camilla replied with a gracious smile, and for a moment, her gaze met mine. I could see the flicker of something in her eyes - was it guilt, or was it defiance?
Another man chimed in, "Marcus is a lucky man to have such a beautiful wife."
I forced a smile, but inside, I was seething with jealousy and possessiveness. "Yes, she is," I replied through gritted teeth, my hands clenching into fists to hide my trembling.
As the night wore on, I tried to keep myself composed, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. Each time Camilla and that masked man crossed paths, my blood boiled with anger. I needed to assert my dominance, to remind her that she was mine and no one else's.
When I finally had a chance to confront the man who had dared to dance with my wife, I approached him with a cool demeanor, masking the storm of emotions within me. "Good evening," I greeted, my tone laced with a hint of hostility.
"Good evening," he replied calmly, his eyes meeting mine with a hint of challenge.
"You dance quite well," I remarked, trying to keep the conversation civil despite the jealousy gnawing at me.
"Thank you. Your wife is an excellent dance partner," he responded, and I could sense the underlying meaning behind his words.
A surge of possessiveness washed over me, and I struggled to control my anger. "Yes, she is," I replied shortly, my jaw clenching involuntarily.
The masked man didn't back down, and there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. "You should feel honored to have such a beautiful and captivating wife," he added, his tone almost taunting.
My patience was wearing thin, and I had to bite back a retort. "I am well aware of how fortunate I am," I replied curtly, not willing to let him see how much his words affected me.
For a moment, we locked eyes in a silent battle of wills. There was something about this man that unnerved me, a sense of confidence and charisma that mirrored my own. But I refused to let him get under my skin, not when it came to Camilla.
Later in the evening, I crossed paths with him again, and I couldn't resist the urge to confront him further. "You seem to be quite taken with my wife," I remarked, my tone laced with a hint of warning.
He arched an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "And why wouldn't I be? She's a remarkable woman," he replied, his voice dripping with confidence.
I clenched my jaw, my fists tightening at my sides. "She's my wife," I asserted, emphasizing the possessive pronoun.
He chuckled, and it only served to fuel my anger further. "Ah yes, your wife. But does that mean she can't dance with anyone else?" he taunted.
"She was dancing with you," I shot back, unable to hide the bitterness in my voice.
His smirk widened, and I could tell that he was enjoying getting under my skin. "You should learn to share, my friend. After all, she seems to enjoy my company," he said, his words like a punch to the gut.
I took a step closer, my face inches from his. "Stay away from her," I growled, my voice low and dangerous.
Juan didn't back down, meeting my gaze head-on. "Or what? You'll have me thrown out of the ball? I believe everyone is welcome here, including me," he retorted, his voice calm but filled with challenges.
I wanted nothing more than to wipe that infuriating smirk off his face, but I knew that causing a scene would only make matters worse. So, I forced myself to take a step back, trying to regain my composure.
"You may have everyone else fooled, but I see through you," I said, my voice steady but laced with warning.
His eyes flashed with amusement. "Do you know? And what is it that you see?" he asked, seemingly unfazed by my words.
"I see a man who's playing with fire, thinking he can toy with my wife's emotions," I replied, my anger getting the better of me.
He chuckled again, the sound grating on my nerves. "Your wife is a grown woman. She can make her own decisions," he said, his words like a dagger to my heart.
"She's mine," I hissed, my fists clenching once more.
"Is she?" he countered, a glimmer of challenge in his eyes. "Perhaps she's looking for something more than what you can offer."
As we headed back into the ballroom, my anger and possessiveness were still burning within me. I couldn't stand the sight of Camilla even looking in his direction, let alone dancing with him.
But as the announcement for the richest young man at the ball was about to be made, I saw an opportunity to show him who I was and put him in his place. Winning this title for the fourth year in a row would surely demonstrate my superiority over him.
I found Camilla among the crowd and held her hand tightly, trying to hide my irritation behind a facade of excitement. The anticipation built as the host of the ball stood on the stage, ready to announce the winner.
"And now, for the moment you've all been waiting for," the host announced with a smile. "The title of the richest young man in Mexico goes to..."
I held my breath, a smirk playing at the corners of my lips. This was it. I was about to show Juan that he couldn't compete with me in any way.
"Alejandro Montellia!"
What the fuck?! Who the hell is Alejandro? I tilted towards the direction he was, only to find out it was him.
No Way!