Chapter 2 The party😋🎊🍾

Chapter 2

DRESSING FOR THE BALL

Camille paced inside the bedroom, arms folded tightly across her chest. The night breeze flowed in from the open window, but it did nothing to cool the fire burning inside her.

She still couldn't believe this was her life now-locked in a grand estate, under the command of a man she despised.

And now, this.

The bedroom door swung open without a knock.

Luciano walked in, his presence immediately suffocating the room. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, looking effortlessly powerful, his every step measured and confident. Behind him, a nervous-looking woman followed, clutching a portfolio of fabric samples.

Camille's eyes narrowed. "What the hell is this?"

Luciano ignored her tone, nodding toward the designer. "She's here to prepare you for tonight's event."

Camille scoffed, shaking her head. "No."

Luciano gave a small smirk, tilting his head. "No?"

"That's right," she snapped. "I'm not going anywhere with you. I'd rather rot in this damn room than play the part of your pretty little wife."

The designer shifted uncomfortably, sensing the tension in the air. She cleared her throat. "Sir, perhaps I should-"

"Leave," Luciano said smoothly, not taking his eyes off Camille.

The woman practically ran out the door, shutting it behind her.

The moment they were alone, Luciano took a slow step toward Camille. "I suggest you rethink that answer, princess."

Camille met his gaze defiantly. "Or what? You will lock me in a cage? Oh, wait-you already did."

Luciano chuckled, his amusement only fueling her frustration.

"I could take you there myself," he said, voice low. "Dress you myself, if that's what it takes."

Camille's breath caught. The way he said it-calm, controlled, but utterly possessive-sent an involuntary shiver through her.

"I'd like to see you try," she hissed.

Luciano stepped closer, his hand lifting-not to grab her, but to trail his fingers lightly down the strap of her nightdress.

She stiffened.

His eyes darkened as they swept over her, taking in the silky black fabric that hugged her body. "Careful, Camille," he murmured, voice like a slow burn against her skin. "Push me too far, and you won't like how I react."

A tense silence stretched between them.

Camille's heart pounded. She wanted to slap the smirk off his face-but another part of her, a dangerous part, was more affected by his touch than she wanted to admit.

Luciano leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Get dressed. Now."

Camille clenched her jaw. But in the end, she turned toward the closet, yanking out the gown the designer had chosen for her.

She would go.

But she wouldn't make it easy for him.

The ballroom was filled with elegance and power-crystal chandeliers casting golden light over Russia's wealthiest and most influential figures.

Camille was stunning in a sapphire-blue gown, her hair swept into an intricate updo. She looked every bit like the mafia queen Luciano wanted her to be.

But the only warmth she offered him was in appearances.

She walked beside him, her arm looped through him, but her body was rigid, her face carefully unreadable.

Luciano, on the other hand, was the perfect host-calm, collected, and dangerously charming.

As the night progressed, Camille's patience wore thinner. She was tired of the fake smiles, tired of pretending.

So, when a businessman approached her-handsome, well-mannered, and nothing like the beast she was married to-she let herself relax.

She smiled. Laughed.

It was a mistake.

Across the room, Luciano saw everything.

His expression remained unreadable, but his grip on his champagne glass tightened.

Camille knew she had crossed a line.

And when the ball ended, she paid for it.

The moment they stepped outside, Luciano's hand closed around her wrist, firm but controlled.

Camille yanked away. "Let go of me."

Luciano's stormy blue eyes locked onto hers. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

She smirked. "What? Talking to a decent man for once?"

Luciano exhaled slowly as if trying to restrain himself. "You disrespected me."

Camille arched a brow. "Because I smiled at someone?"

Luciano stepped closer, voice low. "Because you laughed with another man after refusing to come here with me."

A wicked smile curled on Camille's lips. "Jealous, are you?"

Luciano's jaw clenched. He didn't deny it.

Instead, he leaned in, his voice a quiet warning. "Be careful how you test me, princess."

Camille held his gaze for a long moment.

Then, she shrugged. "Take me home, then."

Luciano exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before opening the car door for her.

The drive home was tense-a silence so thick it was suffocating.

Luciano's fingers drummed against his thigh, his mind elsewhere.

Camille smirked. She had rattled him.

And she liked it.

The moment they arrived, Camille kicked off her heels and strode toward the stairs, her head held high.

Luciano's voice was dark and lethal behind her. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To bed," she shot back.

In a blink, he was there, his hand wrapping around her wrist-not harshly, but with an authority she couldn't ignore.

"Say that again," he murmured.

Camille's breath hitched. His grip was warm, his presence overwhelming.

She looked up at him, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Luciano's thumb brushed against her pulse, his touch slow. Deliberate.

"You are my wife," he reminded her, voice silk and steel.

Camille swallowed. "Only on paper."

Luciano tilted his head, smirking.

Then, he let go of her completely.

Camille blinked, suddenly cold without his touch.

Luciano took a step back, his smirk infuriating. "Go to bed, princess."

Camille hesitated. What the hell was he doing?

She had expected him to push, demand, or break her defiance. But instead, he was... walking away?

Her pride flared. "Coward."

Luciano only chuckled, heading toward the study without a second glance.

Camille clenched her fists, watching him disappear down the hall.

She had planned to frustrate him. To push him past his control.

So why did it feel like he was the one who had won?