Page 5 of Toxic

The air is thick with the heady scent of wealth—expensive perfumes, aged whiskey, and the intangible musk of ambition. Even after so many years of learning how to be a strong woman, this scene makes me uncomfortable.

People. They’re not my thing. It’s funny how I am so at home with my Hacker Alliance connections and employees more than I am with family. My own parents don’t know who I am. They just know I’m gifted. A genius when it comes to computers, software, numbers and pretty much anything technical.

My genius made my childhood difficult. Not everyone understands a little kid talking about creating my own Mydoom computer virus just for fun. My looks and ability to be a perfect young lady has kept my family on my side. My intelligence also helped our family wealth grow exponentially. Numbers are easy to me.

I stand at the periphery, a predator disguised as prey. My silver gray gown, a sheath of liquid silk, clings to every curve, its color a deliberate echo of his eyes. I adjust the pendant at my throat, an heirloom piece worth more than most people’s homes. It’s a calculated move, a subtle reminder of my lineage, my right to be here among the wolves in sheep’s clothing. I glance down at the emerald ring on my finger. It’s almost time.

My gaze cuts through the crowd like a scalpel, dissecting the scene with clinical precision. Every face is a mask, hiding desperation and greed behind champagne flutes and false smiles. I catalog each one, filing away weaknesses and potential leverage for future use. But they’re not why I’m here. They’re insignificant, mere obstacles between me and my true target.

And then I see him.

Hawk.

The air leaves my lungs in a rush as if I’ve been struck. He stands tall and commanding in a perfectly tailored black suit, the stark lines emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and the lean strength of his frame. Even from across the room, his presence is magnetic, drawing the eye and demanding attention.

He exudes danger from every pore. How could a man that magnetic even exist? The last time Hawk and I were in the same ballroom together is a night I will never forget.

A flurry of whispers ripples through the crowd as he moves, parting before him like the Red Sea. I drink in every detail, committing them to memory: the way his fingers curl around his glass, the subtle shift of muscle beneath his jacket as he turns, the sharp line of his jaw as he surveys the room with eyes the color of storm clouds.

Memories of my 18th birthday party flash unbidden through my mind. Hawk stepping in, his voice cold and cutting as he put Regina in her place, defending me from her vicious taunts. And afterward, my first time. It’s been him and only him in my mindand heart. That day ignited something within me, a fascination that’s only grown more intense with time. An obsession that’s consumed my every waking moment for years.

I force myself to breathe, to maintain the calm facade I’ve spent years perfecting. I’ve learned a lot in the past six years. How to protect myself. How to speak up for myself. How to defend myself and be strong. But more than anything, how to take what I want. I take a breath again. But inside, I’m burning. Every cell in my body screams to go to him, to make him see me, recognize me. To claim what I’ve long since decided is mine.

Instead, I watch. I observe his interactions from afar, cataloging every subtle shift in his body language, every microexpression that crosses his face. The way his eyes narrow slightly when he’s skeptical of what someone’s saying. The almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw when he’s annoyed but too polite to show it.

I’ve studied him for so long, I know his tells better than he does. His uncle and cousin try to get his attention, but I see him shut them down. His uncle’s face pales and his cousin just stares at him in shock before they walk away. Poor bastards. Have they not realized there’s a reason he’s called the Devil?

A flash of red catches my eye, and I feel my entire body tense. Regina slinks up to Hawk, her blood-red gown a garish slash against the more muted tones around her. Her intentions are as transparent as the champagne in her glass—she leans in close, one manicured hand resting possessively on his arm.

Fury rises in me, hot and choking. That’s my man she’s touching. I visualize cutting off each of her fingers and feeding them to sharks. My hands itch to wrap around her throat, to tear her limb from limb for daring to touch what’s mine. I take a sip of champagne to hide the snarl threatening to curl my lip, the delicate stem of the glass creaking in my white-knuckled grip.

But Hawk’s response brings a wave of vicious satisfaction crashing over me. He shrugs off Regina’s touch with a dismissal so cold it’s practically glacial, leaving her standing alone and fuming. I savor her humiliation like a fine wine, letting it soothe the possessive rage still simmering beneath my skin.

As I relish Regina’s defeat, the unthinkable happens. Hawk’s steel-gray eyes lock onto mine from across the ballroom, and the world around us fades away. The cacophony of voices dulls to a distant hum as if I’ve been plunged underwater. Every detail sharpens with preternatural clarity—the clink of glasses, the rustle of silk, the faint notes of his cologne carried to me on an eddy of air. Does he remember the old me? I’ve changed from that innocent, shy girl. Can he see it?

For a moment, just a fraction of a second, I forget how to breathe. His gaze pins me in place, a butterfly on a board, exposed and vulnerable. I feel naked beneath the intensity of his stare as if he can see straight through the carefully constructed persona I present to the world, right down to the dark, obsessive core of me.

Recognition flashes across his face, quickly followed by something I can’t quite identify—possession? curiosity? Before I can analyze it further, a guest intercepts him, shattering the moment. The spell breaks, sound and movement rushing back in a dizzying wave.

My heart pounds against my ribcage like a caged animal as I retreat behind a marble column, seeking refuge in the shadows. Does he truly recognize me after all these years? Is he expecting the old me? How will he react when he realizes I’ve changed? The thought sends a thrill of excitement coursing through me, followed quickly by a stab of panic. This isn’t like me. I’ve learned a lot in six years. I’m always in control, always three steps ahead. Yet one look from Hawk has left me feelingexposed, my carefully laid plans teetering on the edge of chaos. Does he remember us?

I take a deep breath, forcing my racing thoughts into order. I need to recalibrate, to decide whether to make my presence known or continue observing from afar. The temptation to hack into the hotel’s security feeds later tonight is strong—I could review every one of Hawk’s interactions, dissecting each gesture and word until I’ve gleaned every possible scrap of information.

As I formulate my next move, movement near the bar catches my eye. Regina is speaking urgently to a waiter, her body language screaming of covert intentions. I watch as she slips something into a folded napkin, pressing it into the waiter’s hand along with folded bills, giving him a meaningful look.

My eyes narrow, tracking the waiter’s path through the crowd. He weaves between clusters of chattering guests, making a beeline for Hawk. Suspicion coils in my gut as I watch the waiter approach, presenting Hawk with a fresh drink on a silver tray.

Hawk takes the glass with a nod of thanks, bringing it to his lips. I lean forward, every muscle in my body tense as I watch him take a sip. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, almost imperceptibly, his confident posture begins to falter.

I watch, heart in my throat, as Hawk rubs his temple, blinking slowly. Confusion clouds his features, a furrow appears between his brows as he glances around the room. The realization hits me like a jolt of electricity: Regina has drugged him. My mind races through possibilities—a sedative? No, the way his pupils have dilated, the flush creeping up his neck... an aphrodisiac. She means to compromise him, to use his own body against him. Fucking bitch. She’s truly despicable.

Time seems to slow as I weigh my options. Do I allow Regina’s plan to unfold? Or do I intervene, protecting Hawkand potentially exposing myself in the process? The thought of letting her plan unfold makes me sick. Hawk is mine.

Regina sluices through the gathering toward him, ready to swoop in and take advantage of the opportunity.

The decision crystallizes in an instant, as clear and sharp as a diamond. I won’t let Regina succeed, not when I’ve spent years cultivating my own carefully laid plans. Hawk Rivers is mine, and I’ll be damned if I let that witch sink her claws into him.

I move swiftly through the crowd, my gown flowing around me like water. Guests part before me, sensing perhaps the predatory intent in my stride. I approach Hawk with measured steps, schooling my features into a mask of concern.

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