Claimed

Bella walked slowly back, each step measured, as if the world itself had narrowed to the faint echo of her heels on the polished floor. She needed space, air, time to make sense of the fire that had just sparked inside her.

Turning a corner into a quieter hallway, she froze. There, leaning casually against the wall, was Luca. Jacket sharp, posture effortless, eyes dark and deliberate. No props—just him, a living, controlled storm.

“You’re avoiding me,” he said softly, voice low, almost a whisper, yet heavy with weight.

Bella’s breath caught, and she clenched her fists subtly at her sides. “I… I needed a moment,” she admitted, trying to sound composed.

Luca’s gaze lingered on her, calm but intense, as if he could see every thought she tried to hide. “You think a moment will fix what just happened?” His smirk was faint, dangerous, teasing the edges of his control.

Her chest tightened. Every instinct screamed both warning and temptation. She took another step back, but he mirrored her movement with ease, reducing the distance between them without losing his composure.

“You,” he murmured, voice low, deliberate, “don’t know what you do to me.”

Bella swallowed hard, heartbeat racing. Her fingers itched to touch him, to push him away, to challenge him—though she didn’t even know which impulse she wanted more.

He stepped slightly closer, jacket brushing just enough to remind her of him, of the danger, of the promise. That small movement alone was enough to make her knees weak, enough to set her blood thrumming.

“Stop playing with me,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure if she meant him—or herself.

He only smiled, slow and precise. “I don’t play,” he said simply, the words carrying a promise and a warning in equal measure.

The hallway seemed smaller now. Tighter. Charged. Every breath, every heartbeat, every unspoken thought between them pulsed like a fuse ready to ignite.

Luca’s eyes softened just enough to catch the flicker of something dangerous in hers—the heat, the spark, the undeniable tension she couldn’t fully control. He knew, instantly, the truth. She had seen him dance with his father’s friend. And Bella, for the first time, was jealous.

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips. He leaned just a fraction closer, careful, measured, letting the air between them thicken. “You’re jealous,” he murmured, voice low, teasing—but not mocking. It was an observation, an acknowledgment.

Bella’s chest caught sharply. Her fingers curled slightly at the folds of her dress, jaw tightening. “I am… not,” she said, though the flush rising to her cheeks betrayed her.

“Shh.” He pressed a finger gently to her lips, silencing her before she could finish. His eyes softened, but the intensity never wavered. “That woman… the one you saw dancing with me? Don’t worry about her. She’s close to my father, part of his inner circle. Nothing more. Just someone who knows the rules.”

Her pulse skipped. Every instinct in her body screamed—denial, defiance, desire—all tangled into a single, electrifying knot. She wanted to pull away, to assert control… but part of her wanted him closer, wanted him to see every flicker of heat she tried to hide.

Luca chuckled softly, a sound equal parts amusement and seduction. His gaze darkened, sharp and deliberate. “I think that fire in your eyes says otherwise. You are very much jealous.”

He stepped closer still, jacket brushing just enough to ignite her senses, and the hallway shrank around them. Luca’s grin was slow, teasing, knowing exactly what he was doing. “I like this,” he said quietly, almost a whisper, letting the word hang between them like a promise.

“You… like me being jealous?” Her voice trembled slightly, half question, half accusation.

“Yes,” he admitted, eyes locked on hers. “Because it’s real. And real… is far more dangerous than anything else tonight.”

Bella’s breath hitched again. The truth hit her: Luca had always been dangerous. And now, more than ever, she realized she was caught in that danger willingly—and that she had no desire to escape.

He smiled faintly. “You’ve been mine since the night we met at the gala.”

Her chest tightened. She felt it—the pull, the tension twisting tight in her core. Her fingers itched, her pulse thundered, and before she could stop herself, she reached out.

Her hands found his jacket, gripping it lightly at first, almost tentatively. But the moment she felt the solid weight of him under her fingers, the restraint she’d fought to maintain melted. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t, pull away.

Luca’s lips parted slightly, a low, almost imperceptible sound escaping him, acknowledging the touch, the claim. His hands hovered near her arms, ready to respond—but he let her lead, letting her decide how far this went.

Her eyes searched his, trying to read him, trying to anticipate a move, but Luca was impossible to predict. Calm, controlled, yet beneath the surface, a storm waited to break.

“You…” she breathed, almost lost in the nearness, “you make it impossible to… think straight.”

“I know,” he murmured, low and husky. “And I love it when you can’t.”

Her pulse spiked. She pressed closer, forehead brushing his chest, feeling the steady thrum beneath the fabric of his jacket. The air between them sizzled, intimate, electric, dangerous.

Luca’s hands moved, resting gently on her arms, not to restrain, not to dominate, but to frame her, to hold her in place. His thumb brushed the back of her hand, a subtle promise, a warning.

Bella’s chest heaved, fingers tightening on his jacket as though anchoring herself against the intensity. She couldn’t pull back. She wouldn’t. Every instinct told her to surrender—and she did, just a little, letting the danger and desire settle over them like smoke.

Luca’s lips tilted in a knowing, dangerous smile. “So… you’re not running.”

Bella shook her head slightly, almost disbelieving herself. “I… can’t.”

“Good,” he whispered, voice low, near enough to graze her ear. “Because I don’t intend to let you go.”

Her hands clenched a little tighter on his jacket as Luca leaned in, heat radiating off him. Her breath caught, pulse hammering. She could feel the temptation, the danger, the promise—all at once—and it was intoxicating.

He tilted his head, eyes dark, intent, watching her with the patience of a predator enjoying the hunt. “You know,” he murmured, low and rough, “I could kiss you right now.”

Bella’s chest tightened. Her instinct screamed at her to pull back—but the moment her lips brushed near his chest as she pressed closer, she realized she couldn’t. She didn’t want to.

“Then… do it,” she whispered.

Luca’s lips hovered a fraction away, close enough that the heat of his breath grazed her skin. The scent of him, the solidity of his body, the promise in the tension—it was all-consuming.

“Are you sure?” His voice was a teasing growl, dangerous beneath the control.

Bella’s fingers dug slightly into his jacket. “Yes. I can’t… I won’t fight it.”

That was all the invitation he needed. Luca closed the distance with deliberate slowness, giving her every second to step away if she wanted—but she didn’t. Their lips met in a kiss that started soft, exploratory, a question asked and answered simultaneously.

Then it deepened. Luca’s hands slid up to cradle her face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones, holding her steady against the whirlwind of sensation. Bella melted, letting herself feel the rush of desire, the raw magnetism simmering since the gala, since the warehouse, since that first spark.

Their bodies pressed together, heart racing, breath mingling, every nerve alight. Luca’s jacket shifted beneath her hands, the heat of his chest radiating into her. For a heartbeat, it was just them—dangerous, electric, undeniable.

Pulling back slightly, Luca rested his forehead against hers, voice a low murmur that vibrated straight through her. “You’re mine. Since the beginning. Don’t doubt it.”

Bella’s chest heaved, lips parting slightly, eyes dark with want and a hint of mischief. “I… I know. I just… didn’t expect it to feel like this.”

He smiled, slow, dangerous. “Then let me remind you.”

Before she could breathe, he captured her lips again, firmer, unrelenting, as if staking a claim, as if the world outside this hallway had ceased to exist.

The hallway was silent except for their breaths, the pulse of desire, and the quiet, inevitable truth: nothing would ever feel safe or simple again.