MARCUS – POV
The music was a dark thrum in his veins, pulsing like a second heartbeat. The low red lighting in the bar cast shadows across the faces of the crowd, but Marcus was barely paying attention to anyone else. He was perched at the upper VIP lounge, a glass of whiskey in hand, his silver eyes scanning the floor below with vague disinterest.
He hadn't come here to find someone. He had come to escape the weight of business, the schemes that never ended, and the enemies that always lurked. But that didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy the night. Not when the perfect distraction had just walked in.
He saw her before she saw him. The moment she entered, she pulled the attention of every man in her radius. Tall, graceful, dressed like sin. That black dress hugged her like it was custom-made for her curves—short enough to tease, tight enough to torment. Long thigh-high boots and a messy bun that exposed the tender skin of her neck and curls that clung to her temple.
She didn't look like she belonged here, but she didn't look out of place either. She looked like temptation served on a silver platter—and Marcus had never been a man with strong restraint.
"Who is that?" he asked smoothly, voice just loud enough to catch the attention of his right-hand man.
"No idea, boss. Never seen her around before."
Good. That made it more fun.
Marcus leaned back slightly, resting one arm along the edge of the leather couch, drink still in hand, watching her with a calm calculation. She moved like a woman who knew what she wanted, but he was better at reading people than most. There was an edge to her. Controlled confidence, a sharpness under the surface—like a lioness in a room full of sheep.
He liked that.
"Tell the bartender to give her anything she wants. On me," he said. "Then find out her name."
He took another slow sip of his drink, still watching her as she made her way to the bar. She didn't flirt with anyone. She didn't make small talk. She had a mission, whether it was to unwind or seduce, he wasn't sure—but Marcus intended to find out before the night ended.
He stood, adjusting the cuffs of his black shirt and smoothing a hand through his dark hair. He descended the stairs from his lounge, not bothering with guards. If anyone was stupid enough to try anything tonight, he could handle it himself.
By the time he made it to the bar, the bartender had already handed her a drink. She was sipping it slowly, her silver hoops glinting under the light, legs crossed with deliberate ease. Up close, she was even more stunning—flawless golden skin, honey-blonde curls pinned up but still wild, and those eyes—clear, intelligent, and just as guarded as his.
He slid onto the seat next to her, intentionally not saying anything yet. He waited until she turned her head to look at him, that first moment of eye contact, electric.
After she told him her name 'Alina' he looked deep at her"You don't look like the kind of woman who needs someone buying her drinks," he said finally.
She smirked. "I don't."
"Then consider it a thank-you—for making my night more interesting."
She tilted her head, curious but amused. "You always talk to women like that?"
"No," he said truthfully. "Only the ones worth it."
There was a short silence. She sipped again, her lips wrapped around the edge of the glass, and Marcus tracked the motion with his eyes. Something about her was familiar, but he couldn't place it. Maybe he had seen her somewhere before, but no—he never forgot a face like that.
"do you have a second name?" he asked casually.
She smiled with an edge of mystery. "What do you want it to be?"
He chuckled under his breath. Damn, she was good.
"I want the all your names, the real one."
"Then you'll have to earn it."
"I'm good at earning things," he said, eyes narrowing with amusement.
She gave no reaction to the name. That interested him even more.
A slow song began to hum through the bar speakers, drowning out the faster club beats from earlier. Marcus took that as his cue. He stood, holding out a hand. "Dance with me."
She stared at it for a moment, then shrugged and placed her smaller hand in his. "Why not?"
They moved to the center floor, where shadows melted into the beat and bodies moved too closely for polite society. He pulled her closer than was necessary, one hand at the curve of her waist, the other brushing her bare back. Her skin was soft, but her posture didn't weaken—she was holding her own.
"So what brings you here tonight?" he asked lowly, voice in her ear.
"Same as you," she replied just as softly. "Looking for a little fun."
"You don't strike me as the casual type."
She raised an eyebrow. "And you strike me as the type who thinks he knows everything."
Touché.
Marcus felt something twist in his chest. Interest? Lust? Curiosity? All of the above, probably. It had been a long time since anyone had gotten under his skin this fast—and he didn't even know her .
The song ended. He didn't let go.
"Come with me," he said.
"Where?"
"My place."
She laughed. Not a nervous laugh, a knowing one. "And if I say no?"
"Then I'll consider that a challenge."
She leaned in, close enough for her lips to brush the edge of his jaw. "Then I'll consider accepting it."