Taming Gwen

Gwendolyn Ingram knew better than to believe in love.

She once had-the kind of love that made her heart race, her world spin, and her soul cling to the impossible hope that someone could want her the same way she wanted them. But six years of devotion had taught her the hardest lesson of all: love wasn't real. Not the kind she had dreamed of, anyway.

Now, at twenty-three, she wasn't naïve anymore.

Love was a well-dressed lie, and men? A distraction at best, a disappointment at worst.

So, she didn't give them her attention.

Not the ones who stared when she walked into a room.

Not the ones who tried to charm her with empty compliments.

Not the ones who thought money and power made them irresistible.

They were all the same.

Tonight was no different.

Gwen sat at the long marble bar of The Marquette, one of the most exclusive lounges in the city, stirring the dark liquid in her glass with slow disinterest. Around her, the usual crowd buzzed with life-men in sharp suits, women in expensive dresses, conversations filled with flirtations and business deals. She had no interest in either.

"Gwen, you're zoning out again."

She blinked, pulling herself from her thoughts as Naomi Carter, her closest friend and longtime partner in high-society survival, nudged her arm.

"You dragged me out tonight," Naomi reminded her with a teasing smirk. "At least pretend to be entertained."

Gwen exhaled softly, offering a half-hearted smile. "I am entertained. Watching men embarrass themselves never gets old."

Naomi laughed. "God, you're impossible."

Gwen merely lifted her glass in silent agreement.

She didn't hate men. She just had no interest in them. And if she was being honest, she liked it that way.

For six years, she had poured every fragile piece of herself into someone who had never truly been hers. When it ended, she had promised herself one thing: never again.

She wouldn't waste another second of her life on a man.

But then-

The air shifted.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but Gwen felt it.

A presence. A gaze. A pull.

And when she finally turned her head, her eyes collided with him.

Across the room, near the lounge's private section, stood a man unlike any she had ever seen.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. The kind of devastatingly handsome that made women forget their own names. Dark hair, perfectly styled yet carelessly tousled. A suit so tailored it looked like a second skin. A strong jawline, sharp cheekbones, lips curved in a knowing smirk. And then there were his eyes-deep, dark, piercing, like he could strip a woman bare with just a look.

He didn't just take up space. He owned it.

And he was looking right at her.

Gwen didn't flinch. Didn't shift. Didn't react the way most women would under such an intense stare.

She simply looked away.

If he thought she would be like the rest, he was mistaken.

But just as she took another sip of her drink, a deep, smooth voice cut through the noise of the room, sliding down her spine like warm honey.

"Ignoring me already?"

She exhaled through her nose before turning her head again-slowly, deliberately.

The man had moved. He now stood beside her, so close she could catch the faintest trace of his cologne-something rich, dark, expensive. His presence was commanding, but Gwen was not so easily moved.

She arched a brow. "I wasn't ignoring you. That would require acknowledging you in the first place."

The corner of his mouth lifted in amusement. "And now?"

She let her gaze trail over him briefly, unimpressed. "Still deciding if you're worth my time."

Naomi choked on her drink beside her, but the man? He didn't falter. If anything, his smirk deepened, a flicker of something dangerous and entertained flashing in his dark eyes.

"Interesting." He extended a hand, slow and deliberate. "Arthur Belmont."

Gwen didn't take it. "I know who you are."

Arthur didn't drop his hand right away. Instead, he let it linger, watching her, waiting. When she made no move to meet him halfway, he chuckled under his breath and pulled his hand back, sliding it into the pocket of his suit.

"And you are?"

"Not interested."

This time, Naomi full-on coughed. "Jesus, Gwen."

Arthur laughed-a rich, deep sound that sent an unwelcome thrill down her spine. "You always this difficult, or am I just special?"

Gwen met his gaze, her own unreadable. "I don't play games, Mr. Belmont."

"Good." He stepped in, just close enough for her to feel the heat of him, the undeniable weight of his presence. "Neither do I."

She should have walked away. Should have turned her back and proven, without a doubt, that he held no power over her.

But she didn't.

Instead, she held her ground, fingers tightening slightly around the stem of her glass, pulse steady-too steady.

Arthur tilted his head, watching her like she was some puzzle he wanted to solve. And then, just when she thought he was going to push further, he simply smirked.

"Enjoy your night, Gwen."

And with that, he walked away.

Gwen let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

She told herself she didn't care.

But the way her skin tingled where his gaze had lingered said otherwise.