Page 80 of Taken By Sin
His lips twitch into a smirk. “Careful, Magnolia. Compliments like that might go to my head.”
I laugh softly, the tension easing just enough for me to relax into his hold as we begin to move. He leads effortlessly, his movements precise and confident, and for a moment, I forget the opulence of the ballroom, the stares of the crowd.
It’s just us, the music, and the way his hand feels against mine—as if he’s anchoring me to the moment. And in this fleeting sliver of time, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, we can exist like this—untouched by the chaos waiting just outside these gilded walls.
As the dance ends and the applause ripples through the ballroom, Sin keeps his hand at the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd with effortless authority.
I glance up at him, unsure of what comes next, but his expression is calm and unreadable, his mask only adding to his air of quiet dominance.
“There are a few people you should meet,” he says, his voice low, meant only for me.
I nod, my pulse quickening. This is the part of the evening I’ve been dreading: the part where I step fully into his world, where every word and gesture will be scrutinized by people who wield power like a weapon.
Sin stops first at a cluster of well-dressed men and women standing near the grand floral arrangement in the center ofthe room. Their laughter dies down as we approach, and all eyes turn to Sin with a mix of respect and wariness.
“Victor,” Sin greets the man at the center, his tone cool but polite. “Good to see you.”
Victor Vosci, the man Bria pointed out earlier, offers a thin smile. His salt-and-pepper hair is slicked back, and his navy suit fits him like a glove. His eyes flick to me, sharp and calculating.
“And who is this vision by your side?” he asks smoothly, his smile widening but never quite reaching his eyes.
Sin’s hand presses lightly against my back, grounding me. “Magnolia,” he says, his voice steady. “She’s with me.”
Victor’s gaze lingers for a moment longer than I’m comfortable with, but I meet it head-on, refusing to shrink under his scrutiny. Finally, he inclines his head. “A pleasure, Magnolia. I see you have good taste, Donati.”
“Always,” Sin replies, his tone cool as ice, before smoothly steering me away from the group.
We move from one circle of influence to another, each introduction more surreal than the last. There’s Margot Laurent, who greets me with a smile that feels as sharp as the diamonds on her mask. Her questions are casual but probing, her eyes glinting with curiosity. I tread carefully, giving polite answers and letting Sin handle the weightier parts of the conversation.
Then there’s Lucian De Luca, who offers a charming smile that doesn’t quite hide the dangerous edge in his demeanor. He comments on my gown, his tone light, but I can feel Sin’s hand tighten slightly on my back—a silent warning that I’m his, and no one else’s.
Each interaction feels like navigating a minefield, but with Sin by my side, I manage to keep my head high and my voice steady. He introduces me not as a passing acquaintance or a guest, but as someone who belongs at his side, and the significance of that isn’t lost on me—or anyone else in the room.
When we finally step away from the crowd, I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Sin leans in slightly, his voice warm against my ear.
“You handled that perfectly,” he murmurs.
“Did I?” I ask, glancing up at him. “Because I feel like I just survived a test that I never studied for.”
His lips curve into the faintest smile. “That’s exactly what it was. And you passed.”
I shake my head with a soft laugh, but the warmth in his gaze sends a flicker of pride through me. In his world of power and influence, every word, every look, every gesture is a game of strategy—and tonight, for better or worse, I’m a player.
The orchestra strikes a familiar chord, a soft waltz that flows through the ballroom like a gentle breeze. Sin turns to me, his dark eyes catching the light in a way that makes my breath hitch. The crowd seems to fade as he holds out his hand, his intent clear.
“Dance with me,” he says, his voice low and intimate, a command wrapped in velvet.
I slip my hand into his. The warmth of his touch sends a jolt through me, and he pulls me gently onto the center of the dance floor.
The room seems to still, all eyes turning toward us, but Sin doesn’t seem to notice—or care. He places one hand on mywaist, his touch firm yet careful, and takes my other hand in his, holding it just between us. The music swells, and with a subtle pull, he leads me into the first step.
I follow instinctively, letting him guide me. His movements are smooth and deliberate, each step precise but unhurried. It’s as if he’s drawing me into his rhythm, weaving me into the melody itself.
“You’re light on your feet,” he murmurs, his tone teasing but sincere.
“And you’re a better dancer than I expected,” I counter, a nervous smile tugging at my lips.
His eyes narrow slightly, amused. “I had excellent teachers.”