She didn't know I was watching.
Not then.
The girl on stage was a contradiction—graceful, but guarded. Confident, but careful. Every movement was calculated to seduce, and yet… there was something behind her eyes. Like she was somewhere else entirely.
Not many things surprised me anymore. Not many people interested me. But her?
She didn't perform like someone trying to be seen.
She moved like someone trying not to disappear.
And that made her dangerous.
"Who is she?" I asked without turning from the glass.
Enzo, my head of security, barely glanced up from his tablet. "Sloane Mercer. Been here six months. Quiet. No drama. Good with the customers, doesn't mingle outside of work. Lives alone off Fremont."
Efficient as always.
"What else?"
"No priors. No family listed. Keeps her head down. Smart, too—got accepted into NYU at seventeen but didn't go."
That made me pause.
I turned my gaze slightly, studying the way her body curved and dipped under the lights. This wasn't her dream. Not even close. She didn't dance like someone chasing fame. She danced like someone with no other choice.
I knew that feeling.
"Why hasn't she come up before?" I asked.
Enzo shrugged. "She doesn't break rules. Doesn't flirt with power. Girls like that don't get noticed unless they want to be."
I let that sit for a moment.
Then: "I want her file."
Enzo raised a brow. "She done something wrong?"
"No." I took a sip of my scotch. "That's what bothers me."
---
Later that night, I reviewed her personnel file myself.
Everything about Sloane Mercer was ordinary on the surface. No major red flags. No connections. A clean, manufactured life.
Too clean.
There were gaps—months unaccounted for, jobs that didn't match her skills. People like her didn't just end up here by accident. They were running from something. Or hiding something.
Both, probably.
I should've let it go. I had more important things to focus on—deals, investors, enemies who would kill to see my empire fall. I didn't have time for distractions. Especially not distractions with eyes like hers.
But the next night, I watched her again.
And the night after that.
And the next.
---
She never smiled unless she had to.
She never lingered after work.
She never looked up at the VIP balcony.
Until tonight.
When her gaze met mine, something shifted.
She flinched—not in fear, but in recognition. As if she'd felt me watching her for weeks. As if she knew what I was.
And she didn't run.
That intrigued me more than it should have.
---
"Boss?" Reggie's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "She's offstage. Want me to send her up?"
I paused.
There were rules in place for a reason. I didn't touch the dancers. Not out of decency—out of control. Boundaries mattered when everything else in your life blurred into temptation.
But boundaries were for men with something to lose.
And I had already lost too much.
"Send her up," I said quietly.
---
When she stepped into my suite, something primal stirred.
She was smaller up close. Still, she held herself with the kind of dignity no one down on their luck should carry. She didn't fidget. Didn't smile. She just waited.
Like a challenge.
I gave her a warning. Told her I didn't mix business with pleasure.
She didn't flinch.
When I told her I might make an exception, she didn't blush or beg. She met my gaze like she was just as tired of pretending as I was.
That was the moment I knew.
This wasn't going to be simple.
This wasn't going to be safe.
And I was going to take her anyway.