Chapter 6 - The Waltz of the Damned
The music swelled around them, a rich, melancholic symphony of violins and cellos that echoed off the gilded ceiling of the Plaza ballroom.
Claire tried to keep her body rigid, pushing against the solid wall of Nathan’s chest, but the momentum of the waltz swept them together in a fluid, hypnotic rhythm. She could feel the steady, powerful beat of his heart beneath his tailored waistcoat, and the faint, intoxicating scent of sandalwood and expensive bourbon wrapping around her senses.
“You’re insane,” Claire hissed under her breath, keeping her eyes locked on the knot of his silk tie to avoid looking into his piercing gaze. “Dragging me onto the dance floor in front of every high-society gossip in New York. What kind of game are you playing, Nathan?”
“It’s not a game, Claire,” Nathan replied, his voice a low, gravelly hum vibrating against her skin as he spun her effortlessly through a dip. “It’s reality. You wanted to wage war on me? Fine. But war doesn’t mean we can’t have a conversation.”
“We have nothing to talk about,” she snapped, her fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket. “You killed my husband’s spirit. You destroyed my family. You think a fancy dress and a dance can wash the blood off your hands?”
Nathan stopped spinning. He pulled her slightly closer, his hand tightening on her waist, forcing her to look up into his eyes. The raw intensity in his expression stopped her heart for a fraction of a second.
“I didn’t kill Daniel, Claire,” Nathan said, his voice dropping all pretense of corporate arrogance, filled with a quiet, devastating sincerity. “My company’s negligence contributed to his despair, and I carry that weight every single day. That is why I didn’t fight your lawsuit. That is why I gave you the financial leverage to tear down my legacy. Because if anyone has the right to burn Cole Development to the ground, it’s you.”
Claire’s breath caught. The anger that had sustained her through four years of sleepless nights and grinding poverty suddenly felt hollow, replaced by a terrifying, confusing vertigo. She had expected a monster. She had expected a cold, heartless billionaire who would laugh in her face and sic his legal attack dogs on her.
Instead, he was handing her the matches and asking her to strike the match.
“Why?” Claire whispered, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to keep it steady. “Why do this? Why not just crush me like everyone else would?”
“Because,” Nathan murmured, his thumb brushing lightly against the bare skin of her lower back, sending a shiver racing down her spine, “watching you fight me is the most alive I’ve felt in a decade.”
Before Claire could formulate a reply, the music ended with a dramatic crescendo. The applause of the surrounding elite washed over them.
Nathan released her waist, stepping back just far enough to maintain decorum, though his eyes never left her face. He offered a polite, formal bow, as if they were two strangers at a cotillion.
“Have a good evening, Ms. Bennett,” Nathan said quietly, before turning on his heel and walking away into the crowd, leaving Claire standing alone on the dance floor, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Meanwhile, tucked away in a shadowed corner near the champagne towers, Marcus Vance watched the entire exchange with eyes narrowed to venomous slits. He lifted his crystal flute, his knuckles whitening around the stem.
May you like
“Playing with fire, boy,” Marcus muttered to himself, a cruel smile twisting his lips. “Let’s see how you burn when the whole city watches you turn to ash.”
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