Ray's POV
The Maddox mansion was drowning in chandeliers, expensive cologne, and shallow conversation. Every guest glimmered like they were dipped in gold—because tonight wasn't just a party.
It was a performance.
The Maddox-Carter merger had gone through. Contracts signed. Empires merged. Our fathers beamed like kings, wine glasses raised, unaware—or maybe uncaring—that they'd just bartered two lives like they were nothing but chess pieces.
Now that the ink was dry, Sky and I were allowed to date. Not out of approval—out of convenience. "Good for headlines," her father had said. "Polished optics," mine added.
I stood by the marble bar, watching as she walked in.
Every conversation dissolved.
Sky Maddox didn't enter the gala. She owned it.
Black tailored dress. Gold accents on her waist like they were forged to fit only her. Legs long and lethal under sheer tights, heels clicking like a countdown. Her blazer was sharp, cropped, powerful—Chanel. Her chain bag swung like a threat. She wasn't just beautiful.
She was a declaration.
And I was screwed.
She didn't even look at me. Just smiled politely, air-kissed relatives, and nodded at billionaires. She wasn't the girl I held at 2 AM whispering about how fake all this felt. She was the heiress. Untouchable.
And still—mine.
"Don't stare too long," Austin muttered beside me. "People are watching."
"I don't care."
"Well, I do. I like living."
I shoved my glass away and slipped from the crowd. Through the corridor. Past the staircase. Into the room we agreed on earlier—the study no one used unless they were too drunk to walk.
I didn't have to wait long.
The door clicked shut behind me. Heels on hardwood.
And then she was there.
Sky. In that outfit. Alone. Looking like vengeance in silk and gold.
She didn't speak. Neither did I. I just crossed the room, my hands sliding around her waist, lips brushing her ear.
"You're trying to kill me."
"You like the dress?" she murmured, all soft and smug.
I smirked against her skin. "I've imagined a hundred ways to get you out of it since you walked in."
She pulled back slightly, eyes daring. "Then you'll have to wait till we're back at your place."
"You're the devil."
"And you," she said, running a finger down my chest, "are mine."
We weren't allowed to be affectionate in public. No hand-holding. No kissing. No whispered I love you's.
But behind closed doors?
We broke every rule.