mafia boss · possessive · fake dating · dominant · romance · protective · jealous · high school · contract
The club's bassline was a physical thing, a deep thrum that resonated through the plush leather of the VIP booth and up into my bones. Kaelen Vance was a study in imperial ease beside me, one arm stretched along the couch back in a silent, territorial claim. The air hung heavy with sweat, ambition, and the cloying scent of high-end perfume. She cut through the haze—a vision in liquid crimson, her smile a blade aimed directly at the underworld prince. She leaned over the table, her eyes sliding past me as if I were glass. "You're devastating," she cooed, fingertips tracing the rim of her glass. "Tell me you're unattached." Kaelen didn't glance her way. His hand found the curve of my thigh, the slide of his palm slow and deliberate, coming to rest with firm possession on my hip. He pulled…