Full Moon Fling with a Billionaire Alpha

Lucian's gaze, a primal awareness I couldn't ignore. His eyes, deep as a moonlit pond, held a flicker of som

Billionaire. Reclusive. Powerful. The labels swirled in my mind, but none of them could explain the shiver that

gnetic pull. His arrival felt like the unveiling of a hidden masterpie

in the tense silence. He exchanged pleasantries, but his eyes never left mine, their intensity burning throug

uzz would return, its oblivion preferable to this unnerving awareness. My carefully construc

canvas I'd left abandoned in the bathroom felt hauntingly relevant now. Its chaotic blend of crims

ce between us. Was it just the pregnancy hormones playing tricks on my mind,

n. It wasn't just the icy touch of fear, but a spark of something primal, something akin t

his eye, a subtle shift in his stance. It was the briefest of gesture

snarl as shadows shifted and reformed. His hand, brushed against mi

was something else. And for the first time, the chilling

clusiveness, the way his eyes seemed to flicker in the

a wer

y veins and leaving me breathless. His gaze, still locked on mine, seemed to confirm my

d just shattered completely. And in the swirling wreckage, stood Lucian

nes on my canvas had been irrevocably altered, and Lucian Thorne was wielding the brus

confronting the secrets that lurked beneath the surface, about embracing the shadows and the monster they

higher. This was a story painted in moonlight and danger, a melo

y life, Elle Wilder. Let th

, trapped between the terror twisting my gut and the strange, primal pull emanating from Lucian's piercing gaze. The whispers and riddles swirli

fresh wave of chills cascading down my spine, prickling gooseflesh across my skin. My feet

teel and glass, standing here. This was the woman who stared down deadlines and defied gravity w

lve. "So, Mr. Thorne," I said, my voice surprisingly

sed on. "And what, pray tell, does this... revelation have to do with the champagne

bones. "Ah, Elle," he murmured, his voice a silken cloak dra

ugh me. How... how did he know my name? The question remained

d seemed to part before him, a silent wave of awe and trepidation. I stood

ine, "that your unexpected condition... might not be entire

f my mind. My fingers clutched the champagne flute, the fragile glass suddenly feeli

exhilarating. My architectural mind craved order and clarity, but this, this was

the gallery lights, a silent reminder of the night beneath the moon, the night I'd da

rowl that sent shivers down my spine. "And this," he gestur

e that promised both danger and a strange, forbidden allure, he turned and melted back into the crowd, leav

architect and prey, woman and monster, were blurring. One thing was certain: the champagne buzz was long gone, re

. This was my gallery now, and Lucian Thorne was just the latest, most captivating exhibit. It was time to reclaim t

e game