Veloria shimmered at night like a secret—glamorous, untouchable, and always watching.
And Lily Summers had mastered the art of walking through it without ever being touched.
She stepped out of her black town car, heels slicing against the marble pavement of The Glass Room, the city's newest obsession. Velvet ropes pulled aside without her asking. People parted like waves, their eyes brushing over her black silk dress, the sharp lines of her jaw, the wine-red lips that rarely smiled.
She wasn't here to party. She was here to take over.
Inside, the lounge glowed with amber light, walls wrapped in smoked mirrors, the air thick with money, perfume, and whispered scandal. She'd planned hundreds of launches, but this one—the VIP-only rooftop event for Veloria's elite—was personal. Because Ethan Vale had personally requested her.
That alone should've been a red flag.
He was leaning against the private bar when she saw him—one hand in his pocket, the other holding a drink he wasn't drinking. Tall. Impossibly so. Sharp suit. Sharper gaze. And that smirk—God, that smirk could burn buildings.
"You're late," Ethan said, voice smooth like a lie wrapped in velvet.
"You're arrogant," she replied, already walking past him. "But we all have our flaws."
He turned, following her with the lazy confidence of a man who'd never been told no. "You planned this whole place, right? Impressive. Though, I was expecting someone... older."
"And I was expecting someone less irritating." Lily stopped at the edge of the rooftop, the city sparkling beneath them. "Guess we're both disappointed."
Ethan stepped beside her, close enough that she could smell his cologne—dark, spicy, expensive. "I don't get disappointed, Lily. I get what I want."
She met his gaze. Cool. Unfazed. "Then tonight will be a first."
A tense silence bloomed between them, electric and suffocating. He was testing her. She knew that game. She'd played it better than most. But there was something in Ethan's eyes that made her pulse betray her. Not just lust. Something darker. Something that said he liked watching people fall apart.
"I want this launch to make headlines," he said finally, stepping back. "Shock the city. Make them talk for weeks."
"Then let me do my job. And keep your charm to yourself."
"You sure you can handle both?"
That was the thing about men like Ethan—they underestimated you just enough to feel safe. Then, when you turned their world upside down, they called it witchcraft.
"I don't sleep with clients," Lily said, walking toward the bar.
"Good," he said behind her. "Because I'm not a client. I'm the storm you didn't plan for."
She turned, her smile deadly. "Then I suggest you watch how close you get. I bite."
He grinned, wolfish. "I hope so."
---
An hour later, the rooftop buzzed with influencers, moguls, and too many secrets in one room. Lily moved like a queen through her kingdom, giving orders, fixing details, faking small talk. Ethan watched her from a distance, his eyes unreadable.
She hated the way he looked at her—like she was a puzzle he wanted to break, not solve.
As she was checking the lighting rig, his voice slid behind her again. "You're good at this."
"I know," she said, not turning.
"I'm not used to women ignoring me. It's refreshing."
She faced him, arms crossed. "Flirting isn't going to make me more obedient, Ethan."
"Who said I wanted obedience?"
The music swelled below them. Glasses clinked. Cameras flashed. But all Lily could hear was the rush of blood in her ears and the dangerous promise in his tone.
Ethan Vale wasn't just a playboy. He was a man with nothing to lose. And those were the most dangerous kind.
"I don't need another complication in my life," she said flatly.
"Then you really shouldn't have walked into mine."
And then he did something no one had ever dared—he touched her. Just her wrist. Just for a second. But it was enough. Enough to short-circuit her thoughts, to leave heat trailing behind his fingers, to remind her she wasn't as cold as she pretended to be.
She pulled back instantly. "Touch me again without permission, and you'll regret it."
He raised an eyebrow, amused. "I'm already regretting not doing it sooner."
For the first time in years, Lily Summers didn't have a comeback. And that scared her more than anything.
---
Later that night, long after the crowd had thinned and the city turned quieter but no less alive, Lily stood at the edge of the rooftop alone, wine glass in hand.
Ethan approached again, slower this time.
"I meant it," he said. "You're the best I've seen."
She didn't look at him. "You're still not getting in my bed."
"Who said I want your bed?" he murmured. "I want your attention. And I already have it."
She turned to him, lips parted—ready to slap, to scream, to shatter the tension that had been building like lightning in a storm.
But Ethan simply smiled, placed a single black business card into her palm, and leaned close enough for her to feel his breath on her neck.
"Next time you want to hate me, Lily…" His lips brushed her ear. "Do it somewhere private."
And then he walked away.
Leaving her breathless. Furious.
And completely hooked.