LINES THAT SHOULD’NT BE CROSSES

Lana’s mind was a mess.

The taste of Damian Wolfe was still on her lips, a reminder of the mistake she had just made. A mistake that shouldn’t have felt so… intoxicating.

Damian hadn’t moved. His jaw was tense, his eyes locked onto Victoria as if he was calculating his next move. But Lana could feel the heat of his body, the intensity of the moment still lingering between them.

Victoria Monroe smiled, tilting her glass as if she had just caught something far more entertaining than expected.

“Well,” she mused, taking a slow sip of her wine. “That was unexpected. But then again, you always did have a way of complicating things, Damian.”

Lana swallowed, her heart hammering.

Damian exhaled sharply, stepping back. The loss of his warmth sent an unsettling shiver down her spine.

“This doesn’t concern you, Victoria,” he said, his voice dangerously low.

Victoria chuckled. “Oh, but it does. Because the last time you let someone get too close, it didn’t end well for them.”

Lana stiffened.

Damian’s expression darkened. “Leave.”

Victoria gave Lana one last, knowing glance before gracefully turning away.

The second she disappeared into the crowd, Lana pulled herself together. She turned to Damian, still reeling from what had just happened.

“What the hell was that?” she demanded, voice hushed but sharp.

Damian rubbed his jaw, his usual controlled demeanor slipping for just a second.

“A mistake,” he said.

Lana’s stomach twisted.

“Then let’s make sure it never happens again,” she replied, lifting her chin.

Something flickered in his expression—something unreadable.

“Agreed.”

But the way his eyes lingered on her told a different story.

The Aftermath

Lana didn’t know how she got through the rest of the gala. She spent the remaining time avoiding Damian and dodging Victor’s flirtations, all while pretending she wasn’t unraveling inside.

By the time she got back to her apartment, it was nearly 2 AM.

She kicked off her heels, tossing her clutch onto the couch before heading straight for the kitchen.

Wine. I need wine.

As she reached for a glass, her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Couldn’t stop thinking about our dance tonight.

Lana frowned, her pulse kicking up.

Another text followed.

Unknown Number: Did you enjoy it as much as I did, beautiful?

She sucked in a sharp breath.

Victor.

Of course, it was Victor.

Shaking her head, she deleted the messages and blocked the number.

The last thing she needed was another man messing with her head.

Damian’s POV

Damian sat in his penthouse office, the city skyline stretching before him.

He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling since the moment he kissed her.

He should have let it go. He should have moved on. But instead, he found himself replaying the moment over and over. The way her lips had parted beneath his. The soft, surprised sound she had made. The way her body had fit so perfectly against his.

It was dangerous.

And yet, here he was, gripping his whiskey glass like it held the answers he needed.

He had never been this careless before. Never let emotions cloud his judgment.

But Lana Grey wasn’t just anyone.

She was different. And that made her dangerous.

His phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts.

A message from his private investigator.

PI: Found something on her. You’re going to want to see this.

Damian’s grip on the glass tightened.

Lana had secrets.

And he was going to uncover every single one of them.

Lana’s Sleepless Night

Lana tossed and turned in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Damian’s words kept replaying in her head.

“A mistake.”

Why did it bother her so much?

She groaned, rolling onto her side. Her body still felt warm from the way he had touched her, the way he had pulled her in.

No. She wasn’t going to be that girl. She wasn’t going to be the one who fell for a man like Damian Wolfe.

But then why did it feel like a losing battle?

With a sigh, she grabbed her phone, planning to scroll through emails—anything to distract herself.

But the second she opened her inbox, her breath hitched.

Anonymous Email:

You should be careful, Isla Sinclair. Some people might not like what they find.

Lana’s blood ran cold.

Her real name.

Someone knew.

Damian sat in his office, staring at the tablet in front of him. The image his private investigator had sent him on the screen was a grainy but unmistakable photo from an NBA charity event three years ago. The woman in the picture stood near the court, laughing at something a player had said. Her hair was a shade lighter, Lana exuded effortless sophistication in a crisp white oversized blazer draped over a silky fitted camisole, perfectly paired with tailored high-waisted trousers that elongated her figure. while gold jewelry and oversized sunglasses added the perfect touch of understated glamour. With a structured mini bag in hand and her hair styled in soft waves, she was the embodiment of casual chic., but the face those eyes were the same.

Lana.

Damian frowned, swirling the whiskey in his glass as he leaned back in his chair. He had been at that event too. He vaguely recalled shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries with donors, and being introduced to a young woman. But try as he might, the memory refused to sharpen.

Could it really be her?

Something about the photo unsettled him. Why had she been there? And more importantly, why did she pretend not to know him?

He tapped his fingers against his desk, his mind racing with possibilities. It was just a coincidence… wasn’t it?

His jaw tightened. He didn’t believe in coincidences.

And if Lana Grey was hiding something he would find out.