The grand ballroom of the Blackwood Enterprises Gala was a dazzling display of wealth and power. Crystal chandeliers bathed the room in golden light, and the air buzzed with murmurs of high-profile investors and corporate elites. The event was meant to celebrate another successful quarter for the company, but for Isabella Carter, it was another battlefield.
She adjusted the strap of her sleek black dress, holding a flute of champagne she had no intention of drinking. Tonight wasn't about socializing—it was about strategy. And at the center of it all stood the man she had come to despise and challenge.
Alexander Blackwood.
Dressed in a sharp black tuxedo, he exuded effortless confidence, conversing smoothly with business moguls and politicians alike. His presence dominated the room, but Isabella refused to be just another observer.
She weaved through the crowd, aware of the lingering gazes as she approached him. As if sensing her presence, Alexander turned, a slow smirk curling his lips as he took her in.
"Miss Carter," he greeted, his voice smooth as silk. "I must say, you clean up well."
Isabella matched his smirk. "And you're still as insufferable as ever."
Alexander chuckled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "I heard about your little stunt with the Everett Deal. Impressive. But you should know, I love a challenge."
She arched a brow. "Good. Because I'm just getting started."
His eyes darkened with something unreadable—something that sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.
Before she could respond, a familiar voice cut in.
"Isabella! There you are!"
She turned to see Ethan Reed, Blackwood's CFO, approaching with his usual easy-going charm. He handed her a drink and gave Alexander a pointed look. "You're not scaring our guests, are you, Alex?"
Alexander exhaled through his nose, clearly unamused. "If she were scared, she wouldn't be standing here."
Isabella raised her glass. "Exactly."
Ethan grinned. "Well, in that case, may I have this dance?"
Before she could reply, Alexander spoke first.
"No."
Both Isabella and Ethan blinked.
"Excuse me?" Isabella challenged, narrowing her eyes.
Alexander set down his glass and stepped closer. "If anyone's dancing with you tonight, it's me."
A slow, dangerous tension crackled between them. It wasn't just a request—it was a claim.
For a fleeting moment, Isabella considered refusing, just to spite him. But as his intense gaze held hers, she realized something.
This wasn't just a dance.
This was another battle.
"Fine," she said, placing her glass on the tray of a passing waiter. "Let's see if you can keep up."
Alexander smirked, offering his hand. "Oh, sweetheart. The question is—can you?"
And as he pulled her onto the dance floor, Isabella had the unsettling realization that for the first time since meeting him…
She wasn't entirely sure of the answer.