Three years later...

Halloween.

Wellesley, Massachusetts

My heart hammers in my chest as I recognize the man cutting through the crowd.

My throat tightens, constricting my breath, as I watch him weave through the guests. He only pauses briefly to speak with admirers and to shake hands with the sponsors present tonight. He's used to it by now, I suppose.

My bare shoulders press back against the cool glass door panes, contrasting against the hot flush spreading through me.

But still, I admire him from afar just as I'd done all those years ago in high school, just as I've done these past years. I haven't set eyes on him since college. Since that day, before...well, before everything changed.

I mentally count back in my head to that night. It's already been three years. You'd think he wouldn't have this effect on me anymore. But in all honesty, the first two years were nearly unbearable as I'd finished school surrounded by his legacy on campus. That's what you get for following your high school sweetheart to college.

Even with his sleek black mask on, I'd know him anywhere. Part of me feels that a lifetime could pass, and nothing would change. Griff Donovan is imprinted on my memory— and on my heart. 'The Beast,' as he's known in his home team state, certainly left his mark.

He looks up and turns towards me—like, just by thinking his name, it's alerted that predatory beast inside him. He's scented his prey or the girl he'd once marked as his forever. I'm not sure there's a difference at this point. I watch him whisper to the tall, blonde model, or actress, or escort he has on his arm tonight before he angles in my direction.

I knew I'd see him eventually. It's not like I can avoid him; a rising defensive line star on the New England Patriots. After three successful seasons with them, he's on every TV screen, magazine, and billboard in the state.

With every new event I'd hosted for the school, I'd lived in constant anticipation of this exact scenario. I just wasn't sure if it was fear or excitement.

Laughing a little at the irony of never being able to escape him, I close my eyes against the sight of him, steeling myself.

"Anna? Is everything alright?" The absent chatter around me stops as eight sets of eyes turn in my direction.

Caught off guard, I force myself to pay attention to the other women around me. The mothers of children attending the small, elite private school I currently work for. I long for a permanent teaching post, but jobs are scarce right now, so I'd accepted the position a little over a year ago. Teacher by morning, administrator by afternoon, PR and outreach coordinator for the school by night.

"I'm fine, just a little light-headed from the wine, Mrs. Collins—Suzanne," I add on hastily at the end, reminding myself she's already asked a dozen times tonight that I call her by her first name. "Please excuse me for a moment. I think I'll get some air."

I smile politely, stepping away before they can protest or insist upon joining me. And, before he can reach me.

As I walk through the crowd, I can't help but feel out of place with the extravagance. I try to remind myself of everything I have to be grateful for about this night.

All of this is for a cause close to my heart, though, and bless Rob for selecting the school relief program for underfunded inner-city schools as this year's recipient of his family company's annual donation.

Thinking of Rob, I suppose I also have him to be grateful for. A good man wooing me persistently, as Gran puts it— or at least wooing the version of the woman I strive to be when I'm with him. The person I want to be, I think.

It's certainly better than any other gesture of romance I've ever received from a man looking to woo me before.

Rob's a family man, a community man, a company man. He's tightly tied to his roots in and around Boston. It's something I envy, never having established roots of my own. For so long, I've been drifting, moving from town to town as substitute teaching posts became available. But at least now, I have something familiar, something to last even if it is farther from Gran than I'd like.

But she won't leave the warm comforts of Savannah, not for the cold that creeps in here this time of year and seems to last an eternity.

Unlike the other man I saw tonight, Rob is everything I should want, just as I seem to be everything he wants. He's made no secret of his interest in me, and yet, I find myself holding back.

I shake the dangerous thoughts away, pushing myself through the crowd, my tight, black, strapless dress beginning to feel constricting around my ribs.

Locking myself in the ladies' room, I lean against the sink, staring into the face of my reflection. I barely recognize myself tonight. But, this is who I'm trying to become. I take slow, steadying breaths, calming my rapidly spiking pulse.

After a few moments, I make my way back to the party with thoughts of him pushed firmly into a dark and distant corner of my mind, the only place he belongs.

Logically, I know this. I've never had a problem with logic. Logically, he belongs in my rearview mirror. Emotionally? That's a whole other can of worms. Emotionally, all I want is for him to look at me like he once did. To fight for me just a fraction of the amount I fought for him. To choose me like I once wish he would have.

Buying myself  a little more time, I lean into acting like the good hostess; I coordinate with the caterers, rubbing my temple in frustration when they debate the smallest details, like which order the hors d'oeuvres should circulate at. I ensure the steady flow of wine, oversee the restocking of ice and spirits, all while longing to curl up in bed with a book.

Or perhaps even with the artwork that my students made for me. Those small joyful moments fostering creativity and exploration are what I live for in the classroom. If only adults could be half as enjoyable as a classroom full of four- and five-year-olds.

Sipping my rapidly warming champagne, I freeze when I'm caught hiding by my co-host. "There you are, beautiful. I've been looking for you." Rob's voice is soft and low. It's filled with concerned amusement but also a hint of annoyance. "You're not hiding from the guests now, are you? I planned this evening for you, Anna. Our guests expect attention."

I smile, a little annoyed by his tone, even though he is right. "Just checking on the hors d'oeuvres and wine, Rob. Everything is fine. Everyone will get the attention they deserve."

Reminding myself that it is literally half my job— as well as my pleasure to be making such a contribution to the inner-city schools, I link my arm through his when it's offered and wander back to the party with him.

As if the universe itself is cursing me, we run straight into the man I've been avoiding all night. And his date.

"Mr. Donovan, what a pleasure to have you here." Rob reaches out to shake hands firmly with Griff. "So glad you changed your mind and decided to join us this evening. It's for a good cause, after all. Isn't that right, Anna? I hope you're prepared to open your checkbook this evening, for the children, of course. Not that I'd object to managing your holdings in the future, should you ever decide to change management."

"As you say, Miller, I'm happy to open the checkbook for the children. As to the rest, I'm content with the arrangements I have, as I mentioned in our last discussion." The hard edge to Griff's voice makes me cringe just a little. It sounds so different from the young man I remember.

"Of course, of course. Forgive me. Say, Donovan, might I invite your lovely companion this evening for a dance?" Rob's smile is charming, conciliatory.

With a sharp nod, Griff consents to his request before Rob extends his arm gallantly to the tall blonde, who giggles and leans close to him as they walk to the dance floor, exchanging introductions and inane pleasantries.

Icy blue eyes stare down at me, familiar yet foreign, freezing me where I stand. There isn't a single glossy, dark black strand of hair out of place. He is temptation incarnate. The upper half of his face is obstructed by his mask, yet I already know every detail beneath it.

"Would you care to dance?" His soft words float over me, coating my skin in goosebumps as the familiar tenor vibrates through me, rattling that flimsy lock on those memories that are better left undisturbed. "It'll look rude if we don't join them, wouldn't you agree, Belle?"

"Don't call me that." I close my eyes against that unwelcome flood of memories. Of soft whispers in the night, of promises, of lies.

"Annabelle, then. Somehow, Anna just doesn't suit you." His voice is harsher than before.

"And how would you know what suits me or doesn't suit me anymore?"

He doesn't answer, nor does he leave room for me to decide. He simply grabs my hand, placing it on his strong, hot forearm. I can feel the heat of his skin scorching my suddenly cold hands through the layers of his shirt and tuxedo jacket.

When he twirls me into his embrace, his fingers graze the bare skin of my back, and I shiver, unable to stop the instant response he inspires from my traitorous body.

As the music floats over me, so do his fingers. The smallest, subtlest, nearly imperceptible movements above the back of my dress simultaneously drive me to the brink of insanity, all while reminding me of everything we once shared. That, combined with the champagne fizzing through my veins, is an intoxicating mix.

My breathing becomes irregular as I struggle to hold onto the present. I refuse to let memory suck me back to the last time I danced in his arms. My dress tightens again as my ribs struggle to expand fully. Dizziness washes over me, just like the soft beat of the music, and it's everything I can do to keep myself rigid in the firm cage of his embrace until the end of the song.

When the final notes of the music drift away, I smile up at him as politely as I can manage, then turn towards the back of the room, towards the fresh air. I grab a full glass of champagne on my way out from a passing waiter, aiming a distracted glance over my shoulder at Rob. Thankfully, I can see he's very much distracted by his blonde dance partner.

I stumble outside, through the double frame doors leading out into the privacy of the garden. I sip the fizzy, dry, crisp liquid rapidly, coughing slightly when the bubbles threaten to overflow from between my lips.

It's too cold for anyone else to be out here, so I take the moment I need, bracing my hands on the concrete balustrade overlooking the lush, green garden. Setting my empty flute aside, I tug and push at the tight fabric as I try to breathe deeply, cursing Rob just a little for sending me this dress. He'd wanted me to look perfect tonight, and I do, but the dress is a size six when it should be a size eight.

Adding to the bizarre sense of claustrophobia I'm feeling, the lace mask I'm wearing for the Halloween Masquerade theme for the charity event conceals half my face, further irritating me in my current state.

Even with the mask, I do not believe anyone could mistake who I am tonight, and I find myself wondering again if that was Rob's intention.

Tonight I'm more than a teacher, more than the PR and events administrator at the school. Tonight, Rob's hinting that perhaps, I'll agree to be his girlfriend. We haven't actually talked about it, though.

My ribs continue to expand painfully inside the unforgiving material of the dress, and a tickle of panic claws at my throat. I struggle to reach the zipper in the back. I just need to take one full breath. That's all I need. One breath to calm my nerves, to cleanse him from my mind.

When large, calloused, warm hands close around mine, sliding the zipper down, I jolt but suck a deep lungful of air hungrily, gratefully.

"You always did look beautiful in black."

I close my eyes, praying it's someone else with that same sinfully sexy, gravelly, just-woke-up voice, and not him. Please, let it be anyone but him.

Turning, I lean back against the cold stone, allowing it to prop me up with the strength I need. Of course, it would be him. I gather the front of my dress tightly against my chest, grateful for the air, but very aware that this is the only barrier between us.

How humiliating could this moment be? That I'd run into the only man I've ever loved beyond reason, beyond everything, while struggling to breathe in a too-tight dress picked out for me by my almost-boyfriend—and him, with his perfectly tailored tuxedo, and even more perfect date.

I bet she doesn't struggle to breathe in her dress.

"And you've only gotten better at getting women out of their clothes, I see. Do you help just any damsel in distress with her zipper?" My voice is sharper than I intended, the only defense I have against him. Against the memories.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, but otherwise, his face remains expressionless. It's a face I'll see in my dreams every night for the rest of my life. But, at least in dreams, it's accompanied by the image of him turning his back on me, on us, choosing fame, and his love of the game over me.

I'm emboldened by the champagne and wine I've been sipping tonight, so I step closer to him, trying to prove he doesn't have any effect on me. What a liar I've become.

"Ah, and it looks like even the most beautiful and delicate of roses now grows thorns..." There's a warning tone in his voice, but he doesn't step away.

"We have to if we're going to survive this cruel world. And the cruel people in it. This world isn't a place for soft and beautiful things. Often, those cruel people destroy any beauty they find without a second thought. Beasts come in all shapes and sizes these days." I stare up into his eyes, hypnotized by the shifting expression and emotion I see there.

I take some sick satisfaction in the flash of anger and, perhaps, hurt that I see in those icy eyes. For years the media has labeled him 'The Beast' for his cruel, punishing, and effective defensive presence on the turf. After all these years, the nickname has transitioned into every facet of his life. He's earned the moniker, that's for sure.

"You don't look destroyed to me, beauty." He reaches his hand towards me, tracing the pad of his thumb over my cheekbone.

"I'm not the same girl I once was. I'll never let a man destroy me again. Beast, or not."

He only smiles. "And if I told you I made a mistake? That I could have had everything I wanted, and you... would that change anything?"

I suck in a startled breath. Yes, my mind screams, but I shut it down. "No," I say instead. But even I'm not convinced by my answer.

"Liar," he says, just before pulling me against him with one firm hand around the back of my neck. His other hand slides into the open back of my dress as he crushes his lips to mine. The feeling of his hot, calloused palm against the bare skin of my back makes me arch into him shamelessly.

He is right; I am a liar. As his warm lips glide over mine, the kiss is everything I remembered, everything I still imagine. The seductive scrape of his rough whiskers makes me moan, which pulls a rough groan from his throat in response.

When he backs me into the shadows, I don't stop him, consumed by his hot, demanding kiss. His tongue slides over my lip, seeking entrance, and I grant it. I lose all sanity, all reason in his arms.

"I've missed you, Belle. I've never forgotten you. Come to my hotel room tonight. I'll leave my driver here for you." He pauses long enough to scrape his teeth across my jaw, catching his breath as he kisses his way down my throat.

I have every intention of saying no. Any moment, the word will tumble from my lip. My resolve will kick in.

But, when his tongue slides over the soft skin behind my ear, that resolve dissolves to dust, like ashes burning up in the flames that he stirs beneath my skin. I'm weak; all of the walls I've built over the years are crumbling down as his scent wraps around me, his taste sings through me, and his hands remind me of everything I've lost. Of everything that I still want, regardless of the cost.

So, instead, I nod, unable or unwilling, to voice the confirmation aloud.

He spins me in his arms, pressing my front against the cold bricks and kissing his way across my shoulders before zipping the dress back up. "Then, for now, I think you have guests to worry about." With one sharp bite to the skin below my ear, he growls his demands against me. "My driver's in the black Mercedes SUV. His name is Carl." The tip of his tongue traces the shell of my ear once more before he whispers roughly, "Until tonight, Annabelle. "

He leaves me standing there, my cheek pressed against the cold bricks, trembling as he walks through the party once more and out the front door.

I know I might be going to hell for what I'll do tonight, but there's nothing that could stop me from seeing him. I fear there never will be.

If the price of feeling something, of feeling anything is my pride, then so be it. I'll gladly pay it. Damned or not.

- - -

I hope you enjoy this first full chapter from Annabelle's POV!

Pride isn't the only thing she risks by seeing Griff later, but we'll get more into that later! ;)

I can't wait to roll out the next chapter. It will be a split POV between Annabelle and Griff. Stay tuned!

Please consider voting if you love the story so far, and join me in the comments to let me know what you liked or if you think anything can be improved!

Xx Toria