The Price Of Their Name

The bass vibrated against my eardrums and bones. I held my glass of gin, "Sasha," I leaned toward her, shouting to bridge the gap of noise. "Why did we even come here?"

Sasha Chen, my best friend and resident free spirit, just flashed a confident smile. "To exist, Leo! It's called existing!" She took a gulp of her cocktail. "Plus, you needed a distraction. Mission: Evict Future-Stepfather Anxiety from Leo's Brain is fully operational!"

I let out a breath, my mother, Eleanor Vance, was currently finalizing arrangements for her impending marriage to Arthur Volkov, a name linked with ruthless power and wealth.

I wasn't opposed to her happiness, Mom deserved every good thing. But the notion of being yanked into that lifestyle was nerve cracking. All I craved was my quiet studio, my sketchpads, and the sanctuary of my own mind.

"I wish I could just disappear," I murmured. "Away from the ceremony, the scrutiny, the... Volkov dynasty."

Sasha immediately clutched my arm. "Not a chance! Tonight, we move. We will erase all of it." She tugged me toward the central knot of moving figures. "Come on, Leo! Lose the tension!"

I hesitated, my sneakers stuck to the damp floor. Public movement was not my thing. But Sasha was persistent, her energy utterly compelling. Soon, I was swaying, then shifting, then actually moving my body. The gin, now three fingers deep, was doing its work.

I closed my eyes, letting the sound engulf me, trying to silence the relentless internal nagging. For a minute, there was only the rhythm, the low illumination, and the pleasing haze of the alcohol.

Then, it happened.

One moment, I was absorbed in my clumsy personal dance; the next, a solid, towering presence collided with my side. I stumbled, a sharp gasp escaping my lips. My eyes flew open, scrambling to make sense of the room.

A massive hand shot out, stabilizing me by the bicep. My skin flared where his fingers connected, a jolt of raw energy surging up my arm. I tilted my head back, and my breath hitched in my throat.

He was exceptionally tall, unnervingly broad, with a powerful darkness that seemed to soak up the surrounding light. His eyes, even through the haze, were penetrating, fixing me in place. A slow, almost curve played on his mouth, and a hint of tattoos peeked from the rolled edge of his sleeve. He wasn't simply appealing; he was intimidating. Every internal alarm shrieked, Flee.

But I was frozen. Paralyzed by the magnetic pull of his stare.

"Watch your step, little thing," his voice resonated, a low, gritty sound that seemed to rumble deep inside me. His thumb, rough and warm, began etching slow on my skin, sending a current of sensation through me.

My mouth felt parched. "My fault," I managed to say. "I wasn't paying attention."

His smile widened. "No, you weren't." His gaze, intensely swept over me in a slow inspection that left me feeling completely exposed, yet startlingly... awake.