Sloane didn't look back.
She kept her strides smooth and unhurried as she walked away, her heels clicking softly against the polished wood floors. Every inch of her posture screamed control, victory, indifference. But inside?
Inside, she was still reeling.
Her skin was still too warm. Her pulse was still too unsteady.
Damn him.
Damn the way he got under her skin, the way he always seemed to know exactly which buttons to press. She had spent years mastering the art of keeping men at arm's length, of making them believe they were the ones chasing her. When in reality, she had already set the terms of the game.
But Vincent Saint-Clair?
He was the only one who played back.
She exhaled as she stepped outside, letting the cool Paris air calm the heat still simmering beneath her skin. The sky had darkened into a deep shade of navy, city lights flickering to life in the distance. The photoshoot had lasted longer than expected, dragging into the evening, and she knew the headlines would start circulating by morning.
Her phone buzzed in her clutch.
She didn't have to check to know who it was.
Vincent.
She could almost see him now, still standing in that dimly lit library, frustration curling through his muscles, his jaw clenched in irritation. He hated losing.
The thought sent a slow ripple of satisfaction through her.
Still, she ignored the call.
Let him stew. Let him wonder.
Let him chase her.
She barely had a moment to enjoy the victory before a sleek black car pulled up in front of the estate. The door opened, and her driver stepped out, nodding politely before moving to hold the door open.
"Home, Ms. Montgomery?"
Sloane hesitated.
For a second, she considered going back to her penthouse, pouring a glass of wine, and savoring the fact that for once, Vincent was the one left wanting more.
But another thought crept in. A sharper, more dangerous one.
If she knew Vincent, he was already planning his next move. And if she wanted to stay ahead, she needed to strike first.
A slow smirk curled on her lips as she slid into the car. "No," she said smoothly. "Take me to the Saint-Clair estate."
Her driver didn't blink. "Of course, Ms. Montgomery."
The door shut behind her, and the car pulled away from the curb, gliding through the Paris streets.
She leaned back against the leather seat, exhaling slowly.
She wasn't just going to win this round.
She was going to make him regret ever thinking he could play this game with her.
The Saint-Clair estate was a testament to power and restraint.
Unlike the Montgomerys' grand, ostentatious properties, Vincent's home in Paris was sleek, modern, and meticulously controlled. The kind of place where every detail was intentional, where luxury was evident but never excessive.
The security at the front gate recognized her immediately, opening the wrought iron entrance without hesitation. By now, they all knew who she was.
Vincent's fiancée. The future Mrs. Saint-Clair.
She resisted the urge to laugh.
If only they knew.
The car rolled up the long, private driveway, stopping in front of the grand double doors. The house was dimly lit from the inside, a few lights glowing behind floor-to-ceiling windows, but it was clear Vincent was still awake.
Good.
Sloane stepped out, her heels clicking against the stone pathway. The moment she reached the door, it opened. As if he had been waiting for her.
And there he was.
Standing in the entryway, tie loosened, whiskey glass in hand, eyes dark with something she refused to name.
He didn't look surprised to see her.
No.
He looked like he had known she would come.
Sloane met his gaze, lips curling. "Expecting me?"
Vincent took a slow sip of his drink, stepping aside just enough to let her in. "Not exactly," he murmured. "But I'm not disappointed."
Sloane stepped past him, brushing against him just slightly, just enough to feel the warmth of his body before she continued inside.
The house was silent, the air thick with something unspoken.
She turned, her smirk sharp. "I thought I'd return the favor."
Vincent arched a brow, setting his glass down on the marble console table. "What favor?"
She took a slow step closer, tilting her head. "You cornered me earlier. I figured it was only fair that I do the same."
Vincent exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You think this is a game, don't you?"
Sloane smiled. "Isn't it?"
He studied her, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. "And what exactly do you want, sweetheart?"
Sloane let the silence stretch. Let the tension settle.
Then, finally, she reached up, smoothing out the loose edge of his tie, the same way she had done once before.
Except this time, she pulled it. Just enough to bring him closer. Just enough to feel his breath catch.
Vincent didn't move. Didn't stop her.
She leaned in slightly, lips barely brushing his jaw. "I want you to admit it," she whispered.
His voice was low. Dangerous. "Admit what?"
She smiled against his skin.
"That you're losing."
Vincent exhaled a slow breath.
One second, she was in control. The next, her back was against the cool marble wall, Vincent's hands braced on either side of her, trapping her in place.
Her breath hitched, but she refused to let it show.
Vincent leaned in, his nose just barely brushing against hers, his breath warm against her lips.
"You think I'm losing?" His voice was quiet, rough around the edges. "Then why are you the one who came to me?"
Her heart slammed against her ribs. He wasn't touching her, and he didn't need to.
The air between them was thick, suffocating. And for the first time all night, she had no idea who was winning.
Sloane swallowed, her fingers twitching at her sides. She needed to say something, needed to gain back control.
But then, Vincent's lips brushed against her jaw.
Not a kiss. Not really.
Just enough to make her breath hitch. Just enough to remind her exactly what kind of war they were playing.
He smirked. "Tell me, sweetheart," he murmured. "Still think you're winning?"
Sloane's pulse roared in her ears. She should have pulled away, should have ended this.
Instead, she tilted her chin up, letting her lips graze his just barely.
Then, with a slow, wicked smile, she whispered, "Always."