Chapter 8: The Gala & The Gamble

by Roxanne Rene

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The Gala – The Ballroom

Jewel Marino had attended her fair share of publishing galas. She knew the formula: champagne, small talk, too-bright smiles from people who only cared about her name on a bestseller list.

And tonight should have been like any other.

Except it wasn’t.

Because Griffin Royce, the man who captured every woman’s attention, had just walked in with Camilla on his arm. Camilla flaunted a silky red number that hugged every curve, screaming power, seduction, and designer labels. She stood beside him, an image of elegance and composure, perfectly poised as if sculpted from the very air around them. Pressed into Griffin’s side with effortless grace, as though she had been designed to fit there, a missing piece finally in place.

She was easily one of the best-dressed women in the room.

In a competition, Jewel’s dress wasn’t as bold as Camilla’s.

It was a soft, shimmering silver, catching the dim ballroom lighting with every movement. It had been a last-minute choice, but standing here now, she wondered if some traitorous part of her had chosen it to match his eyes.

But when Griffin turned his head to look toward the bar—damn her to hell—he stole her breath.

The crisp white of his dress shirt emphasized the slight stubble dusting his sharp jawline. His dark hair was tamed just enough to make him look effortlessly refined, and his stormy blue-gray eyes—God, his eyes—were locked onto hers with an intensity that made her pulse skitter wildly.

Jewel felt something sharp and painful lodge itself in her chest, a sensation reminiscent of a splinter digging deeper with every heartbeat.  

He looked at her—his eyes piercing through the crowd, capturing her essence as though she were the sole inhabitant of his world.  

Jewel’s throat tightened with the weight of his attention; it felt dry and constricted as if every breath she drew had been stolen.  

For one fleeting second, everything shifted.  

The chaotic sounds of the room seemed to fade away, the chatter and laughter blurring into the background, giving way to a profound silence. It was as if time itself had slowed, as though they were the only two souls connected in that intimate moment where nothing else mattered.

Then Camilla called, and he looked away.

She had come tonight with the hope of salvaging their partnership, but the second his eyes met hers, she began to wonder if a partnership was all she truly wanted.

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Jewel’s gaze was drawn to Griffin as he made his rounds through the gala until he stopped at the champagne table. His gaze flickered downward, lingering briefly on the way the fabric hugged her waist and the slight plunge of the neckline.

Then, before she could say anything sarcastic to break the moment, Griffin stepped closer.

Close enough that she could catch the scent of his cologne—something dark, crisp, and earthy like a Givenchy fragrance dabbed with pear and lavender. Close enough that when he leaned in slightly, she felt the barest brush of his breath against her temple. And then, he inhaled.

Jewel’s heart did an odd little somersault.

Did Griffin Royce just breathe her in?

Her Bath & Body Works body butter suddenly felt like a weapon rather than a choice as Griffin exhaled slowly as if trying to steady himself.

Jewel had to fight every single instinct in her body not to react. Instead, she laughed casually, stepping back just enough to keep her sanity. “You sure clean up well, Royce,” she said, desperate to regain her composure.

Griffin smirked. “Trying to charm me, Marino?”

Jewel scoffed. “Please. It’s just nice to see you outshine every other man in the room for once.”

It was supposed to be teasing. Except—it wasn’t a lie. Because Griffin in a suit was unfair.

The tailored black fabric fit him too well, accentuating broad shoulders, strong arms, and long legs. His hair was still slightly tousled as if he couldn’t be bothered to tame it.

He looked like he belonged in another century—like some rogue duke or brooding aristocrat, fresh off the cover of one of his novels.

Camilla had chosen her date well.

Jewel swallowed past the sting of that thought, forcing herself to step further back.

This was dangerous territory, and she had made her choice. She was here to support Camilla.

Which meant she needed an escape.

Fate delivered one in the form of a hand extended toward her. “Jewel Marino,” a smooth, familiar voice said. “Dance with me.”

Jewel turned, blinking up at Elias Laurent, the golden boy of Voss Publishing.

Tall, sharp-featured, charming. Too charming.

He was one of the company’s rising stars—a best-selling mystery writer with perfectly slicked-back hair and a tux that probably cost more than her rent.

And right now?

He was her lifeline.

Jewel forced a bright smile, slipping her hand into his

“I’d love to,” she said, letting him lead her toward the dance floor.

She couldn’t bring herself to look back. Because if she did?

She’d catch Griffin Royce’s hands clenching into fists, his jaw set hard, or how his blue eyes clouded, darkened not with jealousy, not with anger, but with something far more perilous.

Possession.