Isabella didn't stop moving until she was outside.
The cool night air wrapped around her, a welcome contrast to the suffocating heat inside the ballroom. She took a steadying breath, pressing a hand against her racing heart.
He always finds me.
No matter where she went, no matter how much distance she put between them, Ethan Lancaster was always there—watching, waiting, wanting.
And she hated that a part of her felt his absence the second she left.
Shaking off the thought, she made her way toward the parking lot. The gala was still in full swing behind her, but she needed to leave before Ethan found another excuse to corner her.
She reached for her phone, fingers trembling slightly as she unlocked it. A text from her best friend, Mia, popped up on the screen.
Mia:You disappeared. Don't tell me Lancaster scared you off again?
Isabella exhaled sharply, typing a quick response.
Me:I'm just getting some air.
It was a lie.
Because she was running.
And Ethan knew it.
"You're running again, Isabella."
Her body tensed.
She turned slowly, and there he was, standing at the top of the marble steps, watching her like she was something his. The golden light from the ballroom framed him in a way that made him seem untouchable—an untamed king surveying his kingdom.
A cruel, possessive king.
She forced herself to keep her expression neutral. "I told you to enjoy the party, Ethan."
His lips curled into a smirk as he descended the steps. "You left."
She crossed her arms. "That doesn't answer my question."
"I don't like being ignored."
A shiver ran through her at the quiet intensity in his voice.
"You should get used to it," she said, lifting her chin. "Because that's exactly what I plan to keep doing."
Ethan stopped in front of her, too close, his presence overwhelming. His cologne—dark spice and something unmistakably him—wrapped around her, threatening to pull her under.
"You don't really want that."
Her fingers curled into fists.
This was Ethan Lancaster's game. He didn't ask for things. He took them. He pushed and pulled, waiting for the moment his prey let down their guard.
And yet, despite knowing that, she couldn't stop the way her breath hitched when he reached out, tracing the bare skin of her arm with the lightest touch.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured.
She should.
She needed to.
But the words never left her lips.
Instead, she took a step back, breaking the contact. "I don't play games, Ethan."
His eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Neither do I."
A lie.
Ethan loved games.
Especially when he was the one making the rules.
"Good," she said, turning away. "Then we understand each other."
She had barely taken a step when his voice stopped her.
"I want you, Isabella."
The blunt confession sent a shockwave through her, even though she had known it all along.
She clenched her jaw. "Wanting something doesn't mean you get to have it."
His smirk returned, slow and knowing. "It always has before."
She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "I'm not something for you to own, Ethan."
His gaze darkened. "No, you're not." He took another step forward. "You're everything."
Her breath caught.
This was why Ethan Lancaster was dangerous. It wasn't just his persistence. It was the way he made her feel. Like she was the center of his universe, like there was no world outside of the one he created around her.
And it scared her.
Because she wanted to believe him.
She wanted to fall into the illusion, to surrender to the intensity that came with being wanted by him.
But Isabella knew better.
She had seen what happened to people who gave in to Ethan Lancaster.
They lost themselves.
And she refused to be another casualty of his obsession.
"You don't love me, Ethan," she said softly. "You just love the chase."
Something flickered across his face. "You think this is just a game to me?"
"I know it is," she whispered. "Because if I gave in right now, if I told you I wanted you too, you'd lose interest."
His jaw clenched. "That's not true."
She gave him a sad smile. "Prove it, then."
Ethan stared at her for a long moment, his blue eyes burning with something she couldn't decipher. Then, slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek black card.
"My number," he said, holding it out to her.
She frowned. "I already have your number."
"Then use it." His voice was low, dangerous. "Call me. Text me. Reach for me instead of running. And if you still think I'll lose interest…" He stepped closer, his breath ghosting over her cheek. "Then I'll walk away."
A lie.
A beautifully spoken lie.
She met his gaze, her pulse hammering. "And if I don't call?"
Ethan smiled, slow and wicked. "Then I'll just have to keep coming back."
Her heart sank.
Because deep down, she already knew the answer.
No matter how far she ran, no matter how many walls she put between them…
Ethan Lancaster would never let her go.
And a part of her feared that maybe—just maybe—she didn't want him to.