The last lust before divorce

Chapter 7: The Gala of Ghosts

​The grand ballroom of the Crystal Plaza was a sea of diamonds and hypocrisy. This was the same room where Silas had paraded Elena around like a trophy for three years-a beautiful, silent accessory to his ego.

​Tonight, the silence was gone.

​The heavy gold doors swung open, and the chatter died instantly. Elena stepped into the light, her hand resting on Dante Vane's arm. She wore a dress of sheer midnight blue that looked more like smoke than fabric, clinging to every curve.

​"They're staring," Elena whispered, her head held high, her eyes scanning the room for the one face she knew would be there.

​"Let them stare," Dante rasped, his hand tightening on her waist, pulling her flush against his side. "I want them to see what a man looks like when he wins. I want them to see the woman who broke Silas Thorne."

​"I haven't broken him yet," she said, her voice a cold, sharp blade. "I've only taken his toys. I want his soul."

​Dante stopped in the center of the room, ignoring the socialites clamoring for his attention. He turned Elena to face him, his fingers grazing the exposed skin of her back. "You're dangerous tonight, Elena. You're using me as a shield, but you're the one holding the sword."

​"Is that a problem, Dante? I thought you liked investments with a high return."

​Dante leaned in, his lips inches from hers, his obsession flaring in the dark depths of his eyes. "I like things that fight back. It makes the surrender so much sweeter."

​The Shadow in the Corner

​They hadn't been there twenty minutes before the air in the room shifted. A murmur rippled through the crowd near the bar.

​Silas Thorne had arrived.

​He wasn't the polished king Elena remembered. He looked like a man who had crawled out of a wreck. His hair was messy, his eyes were bloodshot, and he was clutching a glass of amber liquid like a lifeline. But it was the look in his eyes when they landed on Elena that made the room turn cold. It wasn't just anger. It was a fever.

​"Elena..." Silas's voice was a ragged croak that carried over the violin music.

​Dante's body went rigid. A low, predatory growl vibrated in his chest. "I'll have him removed. He shouldn't even be on the guest list."

​"No," Elena said, her hand reaching up to touch Dante's chest, feeling the frantic thrum of his heart. "Let him come. I want him to see."

​Silas pushed through the crowd, stumbling slightly. He ignored Dante entirely, his gaze locked onto the curve of Elena's neck, onto the marks Dante had left there that morning.

​"You look... radiant," Silas whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of lust and agony. "That dress... I remember buying you one like it for our anniversary. You never wore it for me."

​"Because you didn't want a woman, Silas," Elena said, her voice echoing in the sudden silence of the ballroom. "You wanted a doll. And dolls don't have a choice in what they wear. Dante, on the other hand... he likes to watch me choose."

​"He doesn't love you!" Silas screamed, the glass in his hand shattering as he gripped it too hard. Shards of crystal bit into his palm, blood dripping onto the white marble floor. "He bought you! He's using you to get to me! He's obsessed with what I had, not with who you are!"

​Dante stepped forward, his shadow engulfing Silas. He didn't use his fists; he used his presence. "What you had was a treasure you treated like trash, Thorne. What I have is the woman who is currently liquidating your remaining assets while you stand here bleeding on the floor."

​"I'll kill you," Silas hissed, stepping toward Dante, his eyes wild. "I'll kill you both before I let you keep her. She's my wife! She's my soul!"

​"I was never your soul, Silas," Elena interrupted, stepping between the two titans. She looked at Silas with a pity that was more painful than a slap. "I was your property. And property can be sold. You sold me. Now, watch me belong to the man who actually knows how to keep what he buys."

​She turned to Dante, her eyes flashing with a dark, erotic challenge. "Dante. I'm bored of this. Take me home."

​The ride back to the penthouse was silent, the tension between them a physical weight. Dante didn't touch her. He sat on his side of the car, his jaw clenched, his hands folded.

​The moment the elevator doors closed behind them in the penthouse, he turned on her.

​He pinned her against the glass wall, his hands framing her head. "You used me back there," he growled, his face inches from hers. "You used my protection to humiliate him. You made me a secondary character in your revenge play."

​"Isn't that what you wanted?" Elena countered, her breath hitching as the heat from his body began to melt her cold exterior. "You wanted to win. We won."

​"I don't want to win a game, Elena!" Dante roared, his composure finally snapping. "I want you! I want the way you looked at him to be the way you look at me! I want your obsession to be mine, not his!"

​He gripped the silk of her dress, the fabric straining. "You think you're so strong, using us both. But look at you. Your heart is racing. Your skin is burning. You aren't just revenging yourself, Elena. You're falling."

​"I'm not falling for anyone," she whispered, though her hands were already finding their way under his jacket.

​"Liar," Dante rasped. He lifted her, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. "Silas is obsessed with the past. I am obsessed with the now. And right now, I'm going to make sure you can't even remember his name."

​He carried her toward the bedroom, his kisses desperate and demanding. Elena let him. She was using him for power, and he was using her for his obsession, but in the dark, the lines were becoming dangerously blurred.