Zara's POV
All eyes were on me as I moved through the crowd, the chatter of the garden party quieted as I passed. My red off-shoulder dress clung to me like a second skin, its ankle-length hem and daring slit revealing a flash of my right leg with each step. It wasn't the typical attire color for this sort of event. That was the point—I wanted their attention. I needed it.
Martin called out to me as I passed the open kitchen stall, his voice tinged with shock. His wide eyes followed my every step, but I didn't stop. His opinion didn't matter tonight. I was looking for one person—just one. The man who held the power to tip the scales in this dangerous game I was playing: Ravier Auckland.
I brushed past the open kitchen stall, Martin's disbelief fading behind me as I walked toward the patio, where the dance floor was.
The waltz music began, I saw Tom and Thalia took the floor first as the hosts, joined by the other guests. Thalia had said she'd share the second dance with Ravier, but here I was, about to steal his first.
My pulse quickened as I approached the dance floor, I spotted Ravier. His gaze struck me like a bolt, raking over me from head to toe, lingering on every detail. I slowed my pace.
When his eyes reached the silver necklace resting on my collarbone—the one he gave me a few days ago—a smirk curved on his lips. It wasn't just amusement—it was calculation. His gaze flicked between my eyes and neck, his smirk deepening.
I stopped in front of him, my heart hammering beneath the fabric of my dress. Extending my hand, I broke the silence.
"May I have this dance?"
For a moment, he didn't move. His piercing eyes bore into mine like a predator deciding whether to indulge in his prey. Then, with deliberate grace, he took my hand, pressing a soft kiss to its back.
"Of course."
His voice was silk, but the grip on my hand was firm, possessive. With a deadly smile, he led me onto the dance floor. The first step brought me closer, his large, sturdy hand pressing against the small of my back, guiding me into his rhythm.
I could feel the weight of his presence—solid, unyielding, with strong veins visible along the side of his neck. My left hand grasped his broad shoulder, feeling the muscles carved through discipline beneath his suit.
"You've outdone yourself tonight, Ms. Shamari. I was right—that necklace looks good on you."
"I hope I didn't startle you, Mr. Auckland." I shot back, trying to keep my tone light.
"Not entirely what I expected," he said, his words clipped, deliberate.
"So, you expected something?"
He chuckled low, "I'm sure what's on your mind matters more than my expectations right now." Then, with a swift motion, he twirled me effortlessly.
I barely had time to register his words before he pulled me back, closer this time. His hand tightened against mine, his gaze sharp as it lingered on the curve of my neck.
There was something about this man that held my attention, something I couldn't quite unravel. Our conversation a few days ago wasn't the first time I'd noticed him. For the past two months, every time he visited The Amethyst, he always chose the seat directly across from the open kitchen section where I worked.
Like most guests drawn to the chef's theatrics of a three-star Michelin restaurant, I assumed he was just there for the show. But unlike others who admired the whole team, his gaze never strayed far from me. It wasn't the polite curiosity of a performance—it was sharper, more intent, as though he were craving something, just like he was now.
Our movements were perfectly synchronized, a seamless dance of passion and precision. I could feel the weight of countless eyes fixed on us, captivated by the way we commanded the floor. Of course, I could see Thalia's fury as well. She glared at me as she danced, her eyes burning with jealousy—a look I relished.
"You lead the dance well, Mr. Auckland. So well until we've drawn quite the crowd's attention," I said, my heart pounding as I scrambled to decide what to say first to him.
"Not nearly as much as your presence alone, Miss," he smirked, his gaze sharp and teasing. "And I doubt you're courting this much attention just to compliment my dancing."
There was no beating around the bush with him. I inhaled softly, the subtle woody notes of his cologne and a soft hint of musk brushing over my senses. A scent that warmed my mind, forcing my next planned words to fall into place.
"That private chef contract offer," I said, cutting through the tension. "I'll take it."
His lips curled into a knowing smile like he'd expected this.
"Didn't you turn me down so fiercely and call me a madman for offering it?"
"Are you not?" I countered, a teasing smirk tugging at my lips. "It's normal for billionaires to lose their heads sometimes."
"Perhaps. But shouldn't you ask nicely first if the offer still stands?"
I tilted my chin, "That's why I wear this necklace, to impress and attract your attention. I already had an answer the moment you grabbed my hand to dance."
"I couldn't ignore the lady who extended her hand for a dance, could I? That wouldn't be very... gentlemanly."
"Yes, you could. A high-profile businessman like you wouldn't waste his precious time on something that doesn't serve his interests." I shot back, my tone full of confidence.
He twirled me again, and with every dip and turn, I felt a surge of raw emotion. His eyes locked firmly onto mine. The music reached its peak, and I followed his lead, our movements flowing in sync. I could feel his intensity as he pulled me closer, his grip tightening. His gaze traveled from my eyes to my neck and shoulder before returning to meet my eyes again, as if calculating something.
"Your confident tone is laced with desperation in your eyes, Ms. Shamari. There must be more to your change of heart than what's written in the contract."
His piercing eyes dared me to lie. "Will you say yes if I tell you what lies beyond the contract?"
"Hmm, shouldn't you state the clause first to strike a bargain?"—a glint of mischief in his hazel eyes—"After all, I'm a high-profile businessman like you said," he teased, clearly testing me. These billionaires like to see if people can match their wit without overshadowing their power.
I might've regretted it later, but that would've been better than regretting not doing it.
"Let's make another contract, Mr. Auckland," I countered.
A satisfied smile tugged at the corner of his lips. His soft, smiling eyes stood in contrast to the depth lurking beneath them.
"I like how clever and sensible you are, Ms. Shamari."
The final note of the music swelled. With an easy motion, he dipped me low, his grip firm yet gentle—steady, like an anchor I needed to bear the weight of my burdens.
My back arched instinctively, with the odd comfort of knowing he wouldn't let me fall. As the last note faded, he pulled me upright, his hand sliding from my back in a way that felt too deliberate, as it lingered just long enough to leave a feeling of trust.
His other hand, still holding mine, shifted subtly, his fingers brushing lightly against my skin before he pulled it closer. With a lingering gaze, he raised my hand to his lips, pressing an unexpectedly warm kiss to the back of it, then said, "Let's make a new deal."