Page 9 of Depraved Temptation

The room grows silent, save for the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. I want to reassure her, to tell her I've got this, but the fear in her eyes stops me.

She takes a shaky breath. "Please, for the sake of everything we've been through, everything we've built, reconsider this relationship with Alexander. I can't bear the thought of something happening to you."

She leaves me with that, a mother's plea, before stepping out of the apartment, the door clicking softly behind her.

I sink into the plush embrace of the couch, my thoughts racing. The room seems to close in on me, each artifact a testament to the life I've built, a life now teetering on the edge. The laughter, the stolen moments with Alexander, the shared glances—they flood my mind, pulling me toward him. But there's a shadow, a growing darkness that threatens to swallow it all.

I think of Cameron, his raw pain and anger, the secrets Alexander and I are weaving, and the potential fallout. Is love, no matter how intense, worth the looming storm? Is it worth the collateral damage?

Crumpling into a ball on the couch, I wrestle with the torment of my emotions, the juxtaposition of elation and dread. As the day's light fades into the horizon, I'm left in the dim glow of my apartment, the uncertainty of the future casting long, haunting shadows.

Chapter 6

Alexander

Risqué's VIP lounge is the kind of place where million-dollar deals are made in hushed tones, secrets whispered between lovers, and egos either stroked or crushed. The dim lighting paints everything in a golden hue, making even the sleekest leather couches look softer. It's my usual haunt on most evenings.

Holding a glass of scotch, I let the smoky flavor roll on my tongue, trying to distract my mind from Lila. Every moment I've shared with her plays on a loop inside my head.

"You look miles away." The voice breaks my reverie, and I turn to see Xavier Sterling lounging next to me, a smirk playing on his lips. His ice-blue eyes gleam with mischief. "Let me guess, pondering over the lovely dancer you were spotted with last night?"

I stiffen, not in the mood for his games tonight. "What's it to you?"

Xavier leans in, amusement evident in his voice. "Word is you've got quite the soft spot for her. But then again, who wouldn't? That woman is captivating."

A muscle twitches in my jaw. "Your point?"

He chuckles. "Just an observation, Alex. You aren't the only one vying for her attention. Men with power, wealth, you name it. She’s a rare gem."

I grip my glass tighter, my temper flaring. "Stay out of it, Xavier."

He raises an eyebrow, a smile that's more provoking than pleasant. "I'm just saying, if you want something, or someone, you've got to make a move. Seize the opportunity. Be bold."

I shoot him a glare, but his words sink in. He's right, in his annoyingly taunting way. Risqué is a jungle, and if I don’t make my move, someone else will.

Xavier gives me a final wink, pushing off the couch and heading toward the exit. "Think about it."

As if I could think about anything else; his words echo in my ears long after he's gone. That irritating smirk of his now feels more like a dare than mere banter.

Lila is not just some fleeting attraction. Every time I think of her, a fire ignites within me that can't be easily extinguished. I need to show her that what's between us isn't just a passing phase. And what better way to do that than to offer her something no one else can?

I remember our earlier conversations, the way her eyes sparkled when she mentioned her passion for dance. More specifically, when she spoke about 'him'—the top performer at Risqué. The one she looks up to. The one she'd die to dance with.

That's it. I'll arrange a private lesson for Lila with him. Something she'd never expect.

Pulling out my phone, I quickly dial the number for Risqué's management. I've been a patron long enough, invested enough money into this establishment, that they would jump through hoops if I asked.

"Risqué, how can I assist you?" a polished voice answers.

"It's Mr. Harrington. I need a favor," I start, leaning back into the plush couch.

By the end of the call, it's done. Lila will have her private lesson. A dance experience she'll never forget. And I'll be there, making sure she knows who made it possible. This is my move, my gamble. I just hope it pays off.

The main studio is expansive, with ornate mirrored walls reflecting the gleaming hardwood floor. But it's too public. The private studio, though smaller, is hidden from the prying eyes of the main club. It has a charm, an intimacy I'm seeking. It's perfect.

As I step in, there he is—Leo Martinez, her idol, already in the room, stretching nonchalantly. Tall, chiseled jaw, and an unmistakable grace even in his simple movements. The guy's got the whole package, there's no denying it. His dark eyes meet mine, appraising for a split second, before a practiced, easy smile creeps onto his face.

"Mr. Harrington, right? I'm Leo," he says, extending a hand. "Heard a lot about you."

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