The Birthday Party
ARIANA'S POV
The room went quiet—but not completely. A hush, like the breath before a kiss, or a gasp held in collective suspense. Then, the announcement rang clear above the hum of expensive perfume and whispered politics.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the birthday celebrant—Mr Hardin Richards.”
The music swelled, and heads turned as the doors parted.
And there he was.
Hardin.
Tall, broad-shouldered, confidence in every step. Dressed in a black suit tailored like it was sculpted onto his body, the crisp lines making his frame even more devastating. A deep midnight tie, silk, resting against the snowy white of his shirt. A single sapphire pin glittered at his lapel—a nod to his family crest, but that was where the tradition ended.
He was not a relic of legacy.
He was desire personified.
And his eyes? His eyes didn’t scan the room. They didn’t pause on the elite or the clinking glasses or the women leaning just slightly too forward to catch his attention.
No.
They found me.
Only me.
Like a damn missile. Like I was gravity, and everything else in the room simply didn’t matter. My breath caught, but I held steady. Even as heat bloomed across my chest and settled in places no one else could see.
He moved through the crowd like a king, smiling politely when someone called out a greeting or slapped him on the back, but never stopping. Never looking away. His focus tunneled. His path, direct.
Until he was standing in front of me.
Hardin leaned in slowly, his mouth brushing my cheek like it was a privilege. A whisper of touch, of warmth. Then he kissed me, full and firm on the lips, silencing the room like a scandal.
Gasps.
I smirked against his mouth.
Let them talk.
Let Veronica drink her champagne and choke.
When he pulled away, there was heat in his eyes and something dark swimming beneath the surface.
"Are you planning to kill me tonight?" he asked, voice low and rough like velvet-dipped sin. "Because you look so fucking good, I nearly tripped walking over here."
"That would’ve been a hell of an entrance," I murmured, tilting my head up toward him. "Falling at my feet. How poetic."
He grinned, God. He was just so handsome.
"I’m serious, Ariana. This dress is illegal in fifteen countries."
"Only fifteen?"
He leaned closer, breath brushing my ear. "Behave," I whispered.
"I haven’t consummated my damn bedroom since moving in with my parents," he murmured, sinful and seductive. "Do you know what that’s doing to me?"
I bit my lip.
"I want tonight to be the first time I use that bed," he continued, his hand ghosting down my arm, stopping just shy of indecent. "With you. In that dress. Under me. Moaning my name so loud my mother cries."
Heat exploded through my body.
"You’re unbelievable," I whispered.
"Only for you."
I laughed softly, the sound breaking the tension curling tight in my spine.
"Fine," I said. "But only if you stop staring at me like you’re two seconds away from dragging me out of here."
"Baby," he said, eyes flashing, "I’m already counting the minutes."
The music picked up again around us. People resumed talking. The spell had broken—but not between us.
His hand found the small of my back, possessive, guiding me gently into the center of the room, and though I was already standing tall, his presence made me feel taller. Bigger. Like no one else mattered. Like Veronica Richards and her frosted stares could burn in the shadows for all I cared.
“I hope you didn’t come here to play nice,” Hardin said as we moved through the room.
“Never,” I replied, sipping my champagne. “I came here to be unforgettable.”
His smirk turned wicked. “You already are.”
We reached the cake just as someone lifted a glass to toast. Hardin stepped away briefly, accepting greetings from a few board members. I watched him—watched the way his hand always drifted back to touch me when he could, subtle but constant. A brush at my waist. A finger against mine.
And the way some of the women—especially his mother—noticed.
Good.
Let them notice.
This wasn’t just a party. This was a statement.
I was with him.
And he didn’t just tolerate it. He flaunted it.
A few more moments passed. Toasts were made. Champagne flowed.
Then the music dimmed again.
A murmur swept through the crowd.
I turned, my body already reacting to the shift in energy.
The crowd was parting.
And then—
All heads turned.
At first I couldn't see who they were all looking at but then she appeared and I froze as my hand tightened around my glass.
What the fuck was she doing here?
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