The scent of roses and sin filled the air, clinging to Isabella Hart's skin as she stepped through the gilded doors of Nocturne, the most exclusive club in Manhattan. Her heels clicked against obsidian marble, each step echoing louder than her heartbeat—or so she told herself.
This wasn't her world.
And yet, she walked into it like she belonged, wrapped in a deep crimson dress that whispered across her thighs and clung to her curves like second skin. Her lips were painted in the same shade, a war paint of defiance and desperation. She told herself she wasn't nervous, even though her stomach twisted like silk caught in wind.
This was Victor Blackwood's world. And Victor didn't tolerate nerves.
He was the reason she was here tonight—her boss, her enigma, the man who'd given her a job when no one else would and a future that shimmered with gold-lined possibilities. But Victor never gave without reason. Everything had a price.
Tonight felt like the down payment.
The club was a cathedral of decadence. Gold and black decor, diamond chandeliers, and security so tight it felt like a fortress disguised as a party. Celebrities, CEOs, and political puppeteers moved through the room like shadows, sipping cocktails and pretending they weren't all monsters in masks.
And Isabella was the newest addition to the masquerade.
"Enjoying yourself?" a voice purred at her back.
She didn't flinch. She didn't need to turn to know who it was. Victor's voice was unmistakable—dark velvet over steel, dangerous and commanding in the softest way.
"I'm still breathing," she replied smoothly.
He stepped into her periphery, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that gleamed slightly under the chandelier light. His raven hair was slicked back, his jaw carved like myth, his silver cufflinks glinting like blades.
Victor smiled. Not warmly. Never warmly. "That's a start."
She took a sip of champagne, though the bubbles felt like fire in her throat. "Why am I here?"
He glanced at her. "Because I need you to be seen."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I'm giving."
She turned to him fully then, her eyes fierce even as her pulse fluttered. "Victor—"
Before she could finish, his gaze flicked across the room. And just like that, the mood shifted.
He leaned in close, voice low. "Don't react. But someone's watching you."
Her skin prickled. Every instinct screamed danger, but she obeyed. Slowly, she set down her glass and glanced toward the crowd.
And locked eyes with a man who didn't belong.
He stood in the shadows, partially obscured by a pillar of glass and light. Black suit. Shirt undone at the collar. No tie. A face like something carved from obsidian—sharp, cold, and devastating. His eyes were the kind of dark that wasn't just color, but depth. A void. A promise.
He didn't smile.
He didn't blink.
He just watched her, like he already knew what she looked like when she fell apart.
"Who is that?" she asked, barely breathing.
Victor's tone turned sharp. "Someone you shouldn't know."
"Tell me."
Victor hesitated. "That's Marcus Vale."
The name didn't mean anything. Yet.
But the tension in Victor's body said everything it didn't.
"He owns a logistics empire," Victor added. "Imports, exports... unofficial activities."
"Criminal?"
Victor didn't answer.
Which meant yes.
"What does he want with me?"
Victor's jaw tightened. "Maybe nothing. Maybe he's just curious."
But curiosity wasn't harmless. Not in this room. Not with men like Marcus Vale.
Victor's voice dropped another octave. "Stay away from him, Isabella. He's the kind of man who breaks things just to see if they bleed."
She should have nodded. She should have looked away.
But she didn't.
Because Marcus Vale raised his glass to her in a silent toast—cool, slow, deliberate. A smirk ghosted across his lips. And in that moment, something passed between them. Invisible. Irresistible.
A thread. A spark.
A silk binding.
Isabella slipped away from Victor thirty minutes later under the excuse of needing air. The rooftop terrace offered reprieve from the noise and the masks. She leaned against the railing, letting the night wind kiss her flushed cheeks. Her skin still buzzed.
She shouldn't have met Marcus's gaze.
Shouldn't have accepted his challenge.
She told herself she was just curious, just intrigued. That it didn't mean anything.
But even she didn't believe that.
"I expected a longer leash," came a voice behind her.
She froze.
She knew that voice.
Low. Rough. Smooth like aged whiskey and just as intoxicating.
Marcus Vale.
He stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, the city lights casting sharp lines across his face.
"You followed me," she said.
"I arrived first."
"You waited."
He didn't deny it.
"Curiosity's dangerous," she said.
"So is beauty," he replied.
Her heart thudded.
"You don't even know me."
He tilted his head. "Don't need to."
She turned to face him fully, folding her arms. "Then tell me, Mr. Vale. What is it you think you know?"
He stepped closer, but not enough to touch. Just enough to invade. Just enough to make her breath catch.
"I know you hate this world but walk in it anyway. That you're loyal to Blackwood, but you don't trust him. That you dress like armor and smile like it's a lie. And I know," he added, voice dipping, "that you're curious about me."
She didn't speak.
Didn't move.
Because every word was true.
And worse—he said it with no hesitation, like he'd read her like a book before the first page even turned.
She swallowed hard. "You're arrogant."
He smiled. "And you're intrigued."
She hated him already.
But God help her, she didn't want to leave.
Victor's car pulled up just after midnight. Isabella sat in the back seat, silent, her mind replaying every word Marcus Vale had said.
She didn't tell Victor she'd spoken to him.
She didn't need to.
Victor glanced at her with narrowed eyes. "He touched you."
It wasn't a question.
She said nothing.
Victor's hands curled into fists on his lap.
"I told you to stay away from him."
"I didn't go looking for him," she snapped. "He found me."
Victor's voice dropped to a growl. "That man is poison, Isabella. If he wants you, it's not for anything good."
"Maybe I can handle myself."
Victor turned to her, eyes blazing. "No, you can't. Not with someone like him."
She looked away, out the window. The city blurred by.
But something had already changed. Something irreversible.
Because when Marcus Vale looked at her, she hadn't felt fear.
She'd felt seen.
Back in her apartment, Isabella undid her dress and let it fall to the floor. Her skin felt too tight, like her body had been rewired to hold tension differently now. Her fingers trembled as she removed her earrings, set them on the dresser.
She should've showered. Washed him away.
Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the skyline.
And for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel alone.
She felt watched.
Not in a way that unsettled her.
In a way that tethered her.
She didn't know what Marcus Vale wanted.
But deep down, in that space no one else touched—
She hoped he came back.
Even if he ruined her.