The crowd seemed to vanish when Luca Moretti stopped in front of her, the space between them collapsing into something dangerously intimate. Aria's breath caught, her practiced smile faltering for only a heartbeat before she forced it back into place.
"Miss Bellamy," he said. His voice was low and smooth, like silk concealing a blade. "I don't believe we've met."
Every instinct urged her to step back, yet she stood her ground. The Moretti name burned in her chest, a reminder of everything she was meant to despise. And still standing this close, seeing how his eyes lingered on hers, she felt her carefully built defenses tremble.
It was only a greeting. But to Aria, it already felt like the beginning of a war.
The air between them tightened, sharp with unspoken history. Luca's gaze didn't waver, and for a fleeting second, she wondered if he could hear the frantic rhythm of her heart. He didn't smile—he didn't need to. The quiet curve of his mouth was challenge enough.
"Strange," he murmured, his tone deceptively calm. "For enemies, our families attend the same parties far too often."
Aria forced her chin higher. "Proximity doesn't change the truth, Mr. Moretti."
The corner of his mouth tilted, not quite amusement, not quite threat. "Luca," he corrected softly. "If you're going to hate me, at least use my name."
Her pulse stuttered. He was too close, his presence too overwhelming. She should have walked away, turned back into the safety of her family's circle. But her feet refused to move, and for the first time in her life, Aria realized danger could feel intoxicating.
"I don't hate you," she said, surprising even herself. The words slipped out before she could stop them.
His eyes narrowed slightly, studying her as though she were a puzzle he intended to solve piece by piece. "No?" His voice dipped lower. "Then what is it you feel, Miss Bellamy?"
Aria's throat tightened. She had no answer that wouldn't betray her.
Before she could speak, the sharp clink of glass against metal cut through the music. Both of them turned toward the stage where her father, Donovan Bellamy, raised a champagne flute to address the crowd. His presence commanded silence; his words, once spoken, were edged with authority.
"Tonight," he began, "the Bellamys and our allies gather not merely to celebrate wealth, but to remind the world where true power lies."
Applause followed, echoing through the hall. Aria clapped dutifully, though her thoughts were still caught in the trap of Luca's gaze.
"Your father enjoys grand speeches," Luca said quietly, leaning just close enough for only her to hear. "But power is not measured in words. It's measured in who dares to defy them."
Her breath caught again. Was that a threat? A promise? Or simply a test?
The applause faded, and her father's voice rose once more. "Of course, power must always be protected. And enemies-" he paused deliberately, his eyes flicking in the direction of the Morettis "must always be remembered."
The ballroom rippled with tension.
Luca's jaw tightened, but his expression remained unreadable. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned closer, so close she could feel the heat of him, the steady danger in his presence.
"Careful, Miss Bellamy," he whispered, his words brushing like fire against her skin. "Fall in love with the wrong man, and it won't be your heart that gets broken. It will be your family's throne."
Her blood ran cold. He pulled back before she could respond, his face perfectly composed, as though he had said nothing at all. With effortless grace, he turned and melted back into the crowd, swallowed by shadows and murmured conversations.
Aria stood frozen, champagne glass trembling in her hand. She told herself she should feel hatred. Fear. Anything but this pull that refused to loosen its grip on her.
But all she could think was one truth she dared not admit aloud.
Luca Moretti was dangerous.
And she had never wanted danger so badly.