116
The music dimmed behind Ioannis as he walked with purposeful steps toward the far end of the hall, where Leandros stood surrounded by investors and flatterers, his grin wide and empty as always.
The man looked up when he saw Ioannis approach, surprise flickering briefly across his face before he gestured to the others to give them a moment.
“Ioannis,” he said, voice full of faux charm. “You have returned. And you seem less distracted.”
“I didn’t come to to talk about your proposal,” Ioannis said smoothly. “This won’t take long.”
He'd had just about enough of the man.
The older man’s expression shifted, just slightly.
“I want you to let her go,” Ioannis said, calm but firm. “No more jobs for her boyfriend. No more obligations. No more pretending to be the loving father while pulling her strings behind the scenes.”
He raised a brow, mockingly. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“You know exactly what I mean,” Ioannis replied, stepping closer. “If you don’t, I’ll pull every contract, every investment, every shared deal we’ve got running. I’ll bleed you dry, and I won’t blink doing it.”
A long pause. Maria’s father blinked, mouth opening slightly before snapping shut. For a moment, he looked ready to argue. But greed had long since eroded his pride.
“Fine,” he muttered. “If she wants to leave, she can. I won’t stop her.”
Ioannis nodded once. “Good. Make sure you mean that.”
He'd make it a habit to call Maria and check up on her every now and then just to be sure she wasn't still trapped in her father's web.
Turning away, he didn’t wait for a response.
He found Yalda near the edge of the ballroom, her arms folded tightly over her chest, her eyes distant.
She looked like she didn’t belong in the crowd, like she didn’t want to. And when he reached her, she didn’t speak.
“Come with me,” he said simply, offering his hand.
She took it without a word.
They stepped onto the balcony, the cool night air brushing over their skin. Far below, the city glimmered, soft lights reflecting off rooftops like stars that had fallen but never quite shattered.
Ioannis leaned on the stone railing, exhaling slowly. “Maria and I,” he began, “wasn’t love. Not even close.”
Yalda turned her head toward him, silent.
“She’s a good woman,” he continued. “But our marriage was arranged. Her father thought he could tie me to him permanently through her. We played along for a while. We even tried to make it work. But it was wrong. She didn’t love me. And I…” he paused, looking directly into Yalda’s eyes, “I wanted her to be free. So I let her go.”
Yalda studied him carefully, her expression unreadable. “You still care about her,” she said softly.
“I care that she’s happy,” he replied without hesitation. “I care that she’s not being controlled.”
“Does she know you threatened her father?” she asked.
He paused. How did she know? But then, he'd always known she'd been with powerful men, she knew how these things worked.
"I saw the look in your eyes when you spoke to him just now; I saw his pride slip." She clarified.
He nodded.
“No." He answered her question. "And she never will.”
A long pause passed between them, but it wasn’t tense. It was full. Full of something warm and quiet and honest.
“You’re not who I expected you to be,” Yalda murmured, stepping closer.
“No?” he whispered, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear.
“You’re better,” she said.
Their lips met with a quiet hunger, a slow press that quickly deepened into something hotter, needier. The hesitation burned off in seconds, melted by the hours of tension simmering between them, by the ache that had lingered in every glance, every accidental touch.
Ioannis gripped her waist, firm and possessive, drawing her flush against him until there was no space left to question or breathe. Her back hit the cold stone of the terrace railing, a contrast to the heat licking beneath her skin.
Her skin seemed to glow in the moonlight, she looked too good, too tempting. He bunched her dress higher, up past her hips, revealing smooth thighs that trembled under his touch.
She gasped when his mouth found her neck, dragging hot, open-mouthed kisses along the tender curve, his teeth grazing just enough to make her squirm.
His breath was ragged now, and his hands shook slightly as he reached between them, undoing his zipper, freeing himself with a groan of need. Her panties were tugged aside in one rough, fluid motion, and then he was there, his thick length nudging against her slick entrance.
“Yalda,” he growled under his breath.
She gasped when he slid into her, slowly, deeply, the stretch making her knees buckle. Her arms locked around his shoulders, anchoring herself to him as he began to move in slow thrusts that rocked her against the railing, each one deeper, more purposeful, dragging breathless whimpers from her lips.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frantic. It was worship.
He kissed her through her moans, lips tangled with hers as if he needed to taste every sound she made. His hand slid to the back of her neck, holding her like something fragile, precious, like the weight of this moment could shatter them both if he let go.
Her body clenched around him, her walls pulsing, and her head dropped back as the climax hit her in waves, so sharp, so overwhelming that her eyes fluttered shut and tears prickled behind her lids.
He cursed softly against her throat, his rhythm faltering, then stilled as he buried himself deep and came with a low, guttural groan that vibrated through her entire being.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The world faded. Time stilled.
He pulled out gently, guiding her trembling body back down with a tenderness that stole her breath again. She winced softly at the sensitivity, and he was already reaching into his inner pocket, unfolding a clean handkerchief.
No words, just the quiet devotion in the way he cleaned her up with care, like she was something fragile.
When he finally looked up, his eyes were softer, darker. He cupped her face, pressed a kiss to her damp forehead.
“You’re not just someone passing through my life, Yalda,” he murmured against her skin. “I need you to know that.”
She blinked up at him, lips parted, heart hammering against her ribs. And for the first time in what felt like forever, she believed someone might actually mean those words.
He kissed her again, slow, deep, and then pulled back just enough to whisper, “Let’s get back to the suite.”
His voice dropped, rough with lingering want. “I can’t get enough of you.”
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