C12 Gala

SYDNEY

I had a plan.

Okay, fine—I always had a plan. But this one was genius.

Step four of “Operation Make Alaric Mine” was simple:

1. Get him out of the suffocating walls of Stallone Enterprises.

2. Get him to notice me as Sydney, not his boss.

3. Turn the sparks between us into a full-on firestorm.

And where better to execute it than my father’s charity gala? Everyone would be there, from business moguls to desperate models hoping for a sponsor. I’d be the star, naturally, but tonight, I wanted to be Alaric’s star.

I slipped into my gown—a backless red silk number that clung to me like it had been made for seduction. Paige gawked when she saw me twirl.

“You’re going to cause car accidents just by existing,” she muttered.

“That’s the point,” I said smugly, spritzing perfume onto my wrists. “Tonight, he won’t be able to resist.”

Paige crossed her arms. “Sydney, the man looks at you like you’re a tax form. Annoying. Mandatory. And something he’d rather burn.”

I shot her a glare. “That’s because he’s fighting his attraction to me. Men like Alaric—they want control. I’ll make him lose it.”

---

At the Gala

The ballroom glittered with chandeliers, champagne towers, and paparazzi flashes. I basked in it, every click of a camera a reminder of who I was: Sydney Stallone, untouchable.

Except… I didn’t want to be untouchable tonight. Not by him.

When Alaric entered, my heart stuttered. Black suit. Crisp shirt. That aloof, devastating expression. The man looked like sin wrapped in Armani.

And he didn’t glance my way. Not once.

Oh, game on.

---

I caught him by the champagne table, his tall frame cutting a commanding figure even among the city’s elite.

“Alaric,” I purred, brushing past him so my bare back practically whispered for his attention.

He didn’t flinch. “Miss Stallone.”

I smiled sweetly. “Oh, come on. Call me Sydney. We’re not in the office.”

His eyes flicked over me—quick, sharp, heated—but then shuttered as fast as they’d opened. “This isn’t wise.”

“Wise is boring,” I countered, leaning closer. “You should try dangerous for once.”

His jaw clenched. “Trust me. You don’t want dangerous.”

Oh, but I did.

---

The orchestra started a slow, sultry waltz. My chance.

Before he could refuse, I grabbed his hand and pulled him to the dance floor. Gasps rippled around us as people stared—the scandal-ridden Stallone heiress dancing with the mysterious, devastating executive. Perfect.

“Relax,” I teased as I pressed against him. “You’re stiff as a board.”

“That’s because you’re reckless,” he muttered, his hand tightening at my waist.

But then his body began to move with mine, fluid, commanding. Each turn, each spin, brought me closer, until my lips hovered a breath away from his.

And I swore—I saw his resolve crack.

---

Just when I thought victory was mine, I noticed something—or rather, someone—at the edge of the ballroom.

A man. Watching me.

No, not watching—staring. His phone raised, snapping pictures.

My stomach dropped. Paparazzi? No. His gaze was too sharp, too focused, too… threatening.

Alaric must have sensed it too, because suddenly his whole body shifted, predator-like. His hand gripped mine tighter.

“Don’t look,” he whispered against my ear, his voice a dark promise. “But we’re being watched.”

Shivers raced down my spine.

And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if I was the hunter in this game… or the prey.