The invitation didn't come as a request; it came as a plea from a man who could no longer breathe without my perfume. Arthur was standing in front of me, in the president's office, his hands restless inside the pockets of his tailored suit. He looked at me as if I were an oasis in the arid desert of his corporate life.
— My father is hosting a charity dinner at the mansion tonight, Elena. It's something formal, boring… but I need you there. As my… special guest.
I feigned hesitation. I bit my lower lip slowly, letting him see the shine of my saliva under the fluorescent office light. I knew that, in that moment, he wasn't listening to my words; he was tracking the movement of my mouth.
— Arthur, I'm just your assistant. What would your father say? — My voice was a whisper of false modesty.
— He'll say I have the best taste in the city — he shot back, stepping forward, invading my personal space. — Please. I've sent a car to pick you up at eight. Wear something… unforgettable.
I smiled inwardly. Unforgettable was my last name.
I spent the afternoon preparing as if I were going to a ritual sacrifice, where I was the priestess and Lorenzo was the lamb. The dress I chose was an affront to morality. It was a liquid silk fabric in the color of red wine, so dark it looked like blood under certain lights. It had no back. None. Only two thin straps crossing at the base of my spine, ending in a dangerous curve over my hips. In the front, the "V" neckline dropped almost to my navel, held in place by pure divine will and film adhesive. My breasts were free, heavy and prominent beneath the thin silk, with my nipples marking the fabric with every deep breath I took, a visual sign that I was as excited by the danger as they would be by me.
When the driver opened the door of the Cavalcanti mansion, the night air of Greenwich seemed to carry the weight of destiny. The house was a fortress of granite and arrogance. I climbed the stairs feeling the cold marble through my heels, each step a drumbeat announcing the invader.
In the main hall, the elite of New York mingled among crystal glasses and empty conversations. But as soon as I entered, the ambient sound seemed to drop an octave. Arthur came toward me, almost tripping over his own feet. He wore a classic tuxedo, but his eyes were fixed on the slit of my dress that revealed my entire right thigh with every movement.
— You are… you are a sin, Elena — he murmured, his trembling hand resting on my bare waist. The contact of his skin against mine gave me a momentary disgust, but I turned it into a seductive smile.
— I am what you made me, Arthur — I replied, leaning slightly so he could see, from his upper angle, just how free my breasts were, ready to spill from the neckline with any sudden movement.
That was when a dry, irony-laced laugh cut through our bubble of tension.
— Well, well… Looks like little Arthur finally found something that wasn't bought from daddy's investment catalog. Or was it?
I turned and found a woman who looked like the absolute opposite of that environment. She had short, messy hair dyed an almost white platinum blonde. She wore an oversized men's suit with nothing underneath and held a glass of straight whiskey as if it were her only anchor to reality.
— Elena, this is my sister, Bianca — Arthur said, his tone shifting into defensive irritation. — Bianca, this is Elena Martins. My executive assistant.
— "Executive assistant," sure — Bianca hissed, her dark, intelligent eyes analyzing me from head to toe with unsettling precision. She didn't look at my cleavage with desire; she looked at my soul with recognition. — You're good, darling. Very good. The styling is flawless. The "luxury nymphomaniac vibe" is a ten out of ten.
— Bianca, enough! — Arthur snapped.
— Relax, little brother. I'm just admiring the art — Bianca took a sip of whiskey and stepped closer to me, the smell of alcohol and luxury smoke radiating from her. — I hate this place. I hate this company, I hate the smell of dirty money, and above all, I hate the theater our father puts on every Sunday. But you… you're the first interesting thing to walk through that door in years.
— It's a pleasure, Bianca — I said, maintaining my mask of serenity, even though my pulse had quickened. She was dangerous. Unlike men, she wasn't driven by what she saw between my legs, but by what she saw behind my eyes.
— The pleasure will be watching the damage you're going to do here — she winked at me, a complicity I hadn't asked for. — A piece of advice? Be careful with the "Old Wolf." He bites for real, and not in the way you like in the dark.
Before I could respond, the air in the room changed. The atmospheric pressure seemed to drop. Bianca stepped back with a cynical smile, while Arthur straightened himself, trying to appear taller than he was.
Lorenzo Cavalcanti was descending the stairs.
He didn't walk; he possessed the space. The black suit was impeccable, the gray at his temples giving him the air of a cruel deity. He stopped at the last step and his eyes swept across the room until they found us.
Arthur grabbed my arm, forcing me to walk toward his father. I felt the weight of my neckline moving rhythmically, each step making the silk slide across my nipples, leaving me in a state of extreme sensory alert.
— Father — Arthur said, his voice slightly unsteady. — This is Elena Martins. I mentioned she's been instrumental in the new expansion strategy.
Lorenzo didn't respond immediately. He studied me. His gaze wasn't the hungry look Arthur had. It was the gaze of an emperor assessing a new province to conquer or destroy. He stopped in front of me, the height difference forcing me to look up, exposing my neck and the deep line of my neckline directly to him.
I didn't look away. I held the pressure. I wanted him to feel the heat I radiated, the scent of my desire to see him in ruins mixed with my own biological arousal.
— Miss Martins — Lorenzo's voice was a deep baritone that seemed to vibrate inside my chest. — Arthur was economical in his descriptions. He didn't mention that his "strategy" included distracting half the board of directors just with your presence.
— I believe in making a lasting impression, Mr. Cavalcanti — I replied, letting my voice drop to an almost guttural tone.
I leaned slightly forward, a calculated movement so that, under the light of the crystal chandeliers, he could see the fluid movement of my breasts nearly escaping the silk. I saw Lorenzo's jaw tighten. It was a minimal detail, almost imperceptible to anyone else, but to me, it was a victory. I had triggered a chemical reaction in the monster.
— Dinner is served — Lorenzo announced, without taking his eyes off mine. — I hope your appetite is as great as your audacity, Miss Martins.
Bianca, watching everything from afar, raised her glass in a silent toast to me. She knew. She saw the web being woven.
The dinner was a torture of etiquette and subtext. I sat between Arthur and some random investor, but Lorenzo was at the head of the table, directly in my line of sight. Throughout the entire meal, I acted like the perfect narcissist. I ate slowly, using my tongue to clean an imaginary drop of sauce from the corner of my mouth, keeping my torso leaned forward so Arthur remained in a permanent state of hidden arousal beneath the tablecloth, and so Lorenzo had to fight the instinct to look at what the dress barely concealed.
— The company is going through changes — Lorenzo said, discussing business, but his eyes burned on the exposed skin of my shoulders. — We need people who understand the value of loyalty. And sacrifice.
— Sacrifice is relative, don't you think? — I interrupted, my voice cutting through the conversation. — Sometimes what seems like a sacrifice to some is just the price of pleasure to others.
Lorenzo stopped cutting his meat. Silence settled over the table. Bianca let out a quiet laugh from across.
— You speak with a lot of authority about pleasure, Miss Martins — Lorenzo said, now fully focused on me. — What exactly gives you pleasure?
I smiled, a predatory smile that would make Joe Goldberg proud.
— Control, Mr. Cavalcanti. Nothing gives me more pleasure than knowing exactly where each piece on the board is… and what it will have to do to avoid being devoured.
The sexual tension and hidden hatred in those words were so palpable that Arthur seemed about to explode. Lorenzo, on the other hand, only tilted his head, a dangerous gleam appearing in his eyes. He had accepted the challenge.
After dinner, Bianca intercepted me near the garden.
— You're a crazy nymphomaniac, Elena — she whispered, but there was genuine admiration in her detached voice. — You're playing with dynamite in here. My father is not Arthur. He won't just fall in love with you; he'll try to break you to see what you're made of inside.
— Let him try — I replied, feeling the cold night wind raise goosebumps along my bare back. — Maybe he'll find out I'm made of exactly the same material as him.
— I doubt it — Bianca shrugged, finishing her whiskey. — You're much worse. And that's why I'm going to love watching you destroy each other. Just do me a favor: when the house falls, try not to get blood on me. I just washed this suit.
I watched her walk away, the only person in that house not blinded by desire. Bianca was an unpredictable element, a potential ally or my greatest downfall. But for now, the focus was the Wolf.
I saw Lorenzo standing on the balcony, watching the darkness of the estate. Arthur had been sent away to deal with some insignificant detail with the guests. We were alone for a brief moment.
I approached him, my steps silent on the stone. When I stopped beside him, I said nothing. I simply breathed, letting him see, in profile, the outline of my breasts rising provocatively, almost slipping out of the silk dress. The air between us was charged, like a storm about to break.
Lorenzo turned to me. His hand rose, not to touch me, but to grip the marble railing so tightly his knuckles turned white.
— You are a danger to my son, Elena — he said, his voice low and dangerous.
— I am a danger to anyone who tries to possess me, Lorenzo — I replied, using his name for the first time, without the title.
He leaned in, his face inches from mine. I could feel the heat of his breath. My nipples hardened instantly beneath the silk, a biological reaction I couldn't hide from him. He looked down at my neckline, and for a second, the CEO's mask dropped. What remained was pure predator.
— You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into — he growled.
— Oh, I do — I whispered, brushing my body lightly against his as I stepped away. — I'm exactly where I've always wanted to be.
I left him there, in the dark, with the image of my body and the sound of my voice etched into his mind. Arthur found me shortly after, breathless, desperate for a kiss, for a touch. I let him kiss me, but my eyes were fixed on his father's silhouette on the balcony.
The routine was over. The infiltration was complete. The banquet had begun, and I was the only one who knew who would be dessert.