Page 36 of His Dark Pull

“Exactly! We’ll drown out those pesky thoughts with laughter, bad dancing, and enough champagne to fill a hot tub. Trust me, it’s the best therapy.”

“Therapy that involves sequins and questionable dance moves? I’m sold. Let’s do this.”

I think I need more than champagne to clear this mess,but it’s a good start.

I nod, sipping the bubbly champagne, its effervescence tickling my nose. She’s right. I’ve been so consumed by thoughts of Alexander that I’d almost allowed fear to dictate my actions. But tonight, I’m determined to let go, to let the music pulse through me and lose myself in the company of my colleagues. For one night, I just want to forget about everything.

“This place is buzzing,”Sarah remarks, her gaze sweeping across the crowded ballroom. “They don’t throw parties like this in the tech world, hun. It’s all protein bars and awkward small talk. This is just fabulous.”

“Really?”I chuckle, surprised. “I always pictured them diving into pools of money like Scrooge McDuck.”

“Oh, they are,”she replies with a knowing smile. “But most of them wouldn’t know a decent suit from a potato sack. None of the nerds I work with would ever be able to pull off a party with this kind of style and elegance.”

“So true. I guess you’ll have to settle for dazzling us mere mortals with your presence tonight.”

“Well, someone has to bring the glamour.”

I laugh, my gaze sweeping across the room, taking in the familiar faces of colleagues, acquaintances, and a few friends. The company has spared no expense, from the renowned DJ spinning pulsating beats to the lavish spread of food and the elegant venue. These events are always a highlight of the year, a chance to connect with people outside of the usual work environment and forge new bonds. But tonight, all I want is to disappear into the crowd, to escape my own world and forget about everything.

As we navigate through the crowd, a song from our teenage years blasts through the speakers, transporting me back to a simpler time, a time before Alexander. Sarah grabs my hand, her smile infectious, and pulls me onto the dance floor. We twirl and laugh, our bodies moving in sync with the rhythm, the worries and anxieties momentarily fading into the background. Maybe I can pretend, just for a little while, that everything is okay, I think.

But as the night wears on and the champagne loosens inhibitions, I can’t help my thoughts. What if I never see him again? The thought pierces through me, a sharp shard of ice against my heart.

Excusing myself from the dance floor, I make my way to the balcony.I need air.

As I lean against the railing, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, the city lights twinkle below. I miss him, I admit to myself, tears stinging my eyes. I miss him more than I ever thought possible.

A sudden prickling sensation at the back of my neck makes me turn around, my heart skipping a beat as I see a man emerge from the shadows, his face familiar yet distant. It takes me a moment to place him, but then it hits me – he’s the man I’d seen in Alexander’s car, the man with the cold, assessing gaze and the broad shoulders.

“Who are you?”I ask, stepping back. “Why are you following me?”

He remains silent, his expression unreadable, his body language radiating a quiet stoicness. Tears sting my eyes,damn it.

“Tell me what’s going on?”I say, my voice cracking.

He lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping. “I am Alexander’s bodyguard and driver,”he finally says. I was sent here to watch you, to protect you.”

“Protect me?”I repeat. “From what?”

“He didn’t specify,”he replies, his gaze never leaving mine.

“Who sent you?”I press.

“Alexander,” he says simply.

Of course.

“What’s your name?”I ask.

“You can call me Mendel,”he replies, his voice flat and emotionless, his eyes giving away nothing of the thoughts that swirl beneath the surface.

My heart hammers against my ribs. What is Alexander trying to protect me from? The question echoes in the silence of my own thoughts. Kovacs is the obvious answer, but the uncertainty, the not knowing, is the worst.

We stand there for a few moments, the cool night air refreshing from the warmth of the crowded ballroom behind us.

“Mr. Thompson is drinking far too much tonight,”Mendel comments, his voice flat, his gaze fixed on a point beyond the glass doors leading back into the ballroom. “He’ll be regretting that in the morning.”His words startle me. How can he possibly know that from here? Just as I’m about to ask another question, a familiar voice, slurred and boisterous, cuts through the quiet.

Sarah, her face flushed and her eyes bright with a mixture of alcohol and excitement, stumbles towards us, her gait unsteady on her high heels.

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