The night refused to end.
Inside The Velvet Room, time moved like smoke—slow, shapeless, impossible to hold.
Adrian Voss sat in the farthest corner of the VIP lounge, half hidden in shadow. He liked it that way. It allowed him to see everyone, while no one saw him.
The investors sitting around him talked about numbers, territories, and deals that were better discussed behind closed doors. But his mind was elsewhere.
His gaze was fixed on her.
The girl from the lower section—the one with storm-gray eyes and an expression that didn't belong in a place like this. She looked both fragile and fierce, like someone trying to hold herself together in a world too heavy to carry.
He watched her trace her finger along her glass, watched her lips move when she whispered something to her friend. He couldn't hear her voice, but he could imagine it—soft, unsure, the kind of voice that didn't beg to be heard but somehow was.
"Mr. Voss," one of the men at his table said. "About the shipment—"
Adrian's eyes flicked toward him, then back to the girl. "Luca will handle it."
Luca, sitting beside him, raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He'd known Adrian long enough to recognize distraction when he saw it.
The investor cleared his throat. "We'd rather hear from you directly."
Adrian leaned back, his tone even. "You'll get what you paid for. I don't repeat myself."
The conversation died immediately. The men nodded, suddenly eager to agree.
Adrian picked up his drink, but his attention never left Zara. She didn't belong in this club. Everything about her screamed it—from her nervous glances to the way she sat too straight, as if afraid to break something she couldn't afford.
He'd seen hundreds of women in places like this—models, heiresses, actresses pretending to be innocent. But this one… she was innocent. Real.
"Who is she?" Adrian murmured.
Luca followed his gaze. "Waitress, maybe? She came in with the loud one. Probably just here for fun."
Adrian's jaw tightened. "She doesn't look like she's having fun."
Luca shrugged. "Then she picked the wrong club."
Adrian ignored him. There was something about her sadness that pulled him closer. He'd built an empire out of control—never feeling, never needing—but for some reason, tonight, that control cracked.
He watched as she lifted the glass he'd sent, took a small sip, and frowned in confusion when she read the card. The way her lips parted slightly, the way her eyes searched the shadows—it stirred something unfamiliar in him.
He hadn't planned on being here tonight. The meeting could've been done anywhere else. But fate—or whatever cruel game the universe played—had placed her in his line of sight.
And Adrian never ignored what caught his attention.
---
Across the room, Zara tried to steady her heartbeat.
The card rested beside her hand like a secret. To new beginnings.
She didn't know what it meant, or who it came from. But her curiosity grew heavier with each passing minute.
Maya was dancing now, laughing with strangers. Zara sat alone, pretending to enjoy the music, her thoughts looping back to those dark eyes she'd seen earlier.
He wasn't there anymore—or at least, she couldn't see him. But she could feel him. That strange sense of being watched hadn't faded.
She looked toward the balcony where the VIP tables were hidden behind half-drawn curtains. Only silhouettes now, shifting shadows and the glint of glasses under soft gold light.
A shiver ran down her spine.
Why did she feel like something dangerous was watching her?
Her phone buzzed. A message from Maya:
> Stop sitting. Dance. Live a little.
Zara sighed. If only it were that easy.
---
Back upstairs, Adrian checked his watch. Luca was finishing the deal with the Russians—code words, fake ledgers, and unspoken threats layered under polite smiles. Adrian had built his fortune in both light and shadow, balancing legality with power few dared to question.
But none of it mattered right now.
"She's leaving soon," Luca said quietly, noticing Adrian's glance downward.
Adrian didn't reply. He set his glass down and stood.
Luca's tone sharpened. "Adrian, don't. Not tonight. You've got enough enemies watching already."
Adrian gave a small, dangerous smile. "Let them watch."
Luca exhaled, muttering a curse under his breath as Adrian disappeared into the crowd.
---
Zara turned to gather her things. Maya was still on the dance floor, too busy to notice her leaving. Zara didn't mind; she'd reached her limit of pretending to belong.
She was about to head for the exit when the crowd parted slightly—and she saw him.
The man from before.
Up close, he was taller than she imagined, dressed in a fitted black suit that looked custom-made for sin. His presence filled the air before he even spoke. People seemed to step aside for him instinctively.
Zara's pulse stumbled.
He stopped a few feet away, studying her in silence. The music pulsed between them like a heartbeat.
For a long moment, neither moved.
Then he spoke—his voice smooth, deep, with a faint accent she couldn't place. "You look like you're thinking of running."
Zara blinked. "Maybe I am."
His mouth curved slightly. "Then I should apologize. My drink must have scared you off."
Her eyes narrowed. "That was you?"
He tilted his head, almost amused. "You didn't like it?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then what did you mean?"
"I mean," she said carefully, "most people introduce themselves before sending mysterious notes."
He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. "Most people bore me."
Zara's breath hitched. There was something in his tone—confidence without arrogance, charm laced with danger.
She should've walked away. Instead, she found herself asking, "And what do you want from me?"
He studied her face, his eyes unreadable. "A conversation."
"That's it?"
"For now."
The way he said it made her stomach twist.
Zara hesitated, then sat back down. "Fine. One conversation."
He took the seat across from her, moving with a kind of quiet grace that drew every eye in the room. When he looked at her, it felt like he saw straight through the defenses she'd spent years building.
"So," she said finally, "are you going to tell me your name?"
"Names complicate things," he said.
She frowned. "Is that supposed to impress me?"
He smiled faintly. "No. Just honesty."
Zara leaned back, studying him. "You're strange."
"I've been called worse."
They sat in silence for a moment. The air between them was thick with something unspoken—interest,