Chapter 180 [Alina's POV] – "The Mask I Wore"
The air outside Marcus' club was cool, brushing against my skin like a warning. My boots clicked with each step as I followed him to his car, my face calm, my lips slightly parted in what looked like confidence—but wasn't.
I had played my part well. Flirted. Teased. Seduced. Just like Liam had instructed. The mission was simple: Get close to Marcus. Make him want more. Get into his life, into his mind, into his secrets. If he fell for me, I'd win.
But I didn't expect him to choose me on the very first night.
I didn't expect him to whisper against my ear with that sinful voice, "You're coming with me."
And now, here I was, sitting beside him in his sleek black car, the city lights flashing across his sharp jaw and dark hair. His cologne was thick in the air—spicy, intoxicating. And the way his silver eyes occasionally flicked to me made something in my stomach twist.
I crossed my legs tightly, my fingers gripping the small clutch on my lap like it was a weapon. "So… do you bring random girls home often?" I asked lightly, giving him a smirk.
Marcus chuckled, and the sound sent a shiver down my back. "No," he said simply. "But there's nothing random about you."
I looked away, hiding the flush that crept up my cheeks. Damn it.
Liam had warned me Marcus was sharp—unpredictable. But he hadn't said how dangerously charming the man could be. And while I could walk like temptation, speak like confidence, and dance like I didn't give a damn, I was still a twenty-one-year-old virgin on her first real mission.
And I wasn't planning to give that away to anyone. Not even for this mission.
His penthouse was luxurious, minimalistic, and soaked in midnight tones. Black and silver. The same as his aura. When he led me in, he didn't touch me. Not yet. He poured us drinks instead, and handed me a glass of something golden and strong.
I didn't drink it.
"I don't usually do this," I said, walking slowly around his living room, letting my fingers glide along the back of his couch.
"Oh?" Marcus leaned against the bar, sipping his drink with one hand in his pocket. "What is it you don't usually do?"
"Go home with strangers." I looked at him over my shoulder.
He arched a brow. "We're not strangers anymore, are we?"
No. That was the problem. We weren't. I knew more about him than he could ever guess. His routines. His enemies. The underground business he ran beneath the surface of all that alcohol and music. But he didn't know me. Not the real me.
"You're quiet," Marcus said after a moment, walking toward me. "Second thoughts?"
I turned around to face him fully. He was close now. Tall. Unreadable. "Not really. Just thinking."
He brushed a finger against a stray curl on my forehead, and I flinched inwardly—though I didn't let it show. He noticed.
"You're not afraid of me, are you?"
"No," I said quickly.
A slow smile tugged at his lips. "You should be."
His words felt like a challenge, and something in me stirred—the part of me that refused to be weak, even when my heart was pounding in my chest. I stepped toward him, smirking.
"Should I be?"
Marcus laughed again, low and amused. "You're brave, Alina."
"You have no idea," I whispered.
He leaned in slowly, his mouth grazing the edge of my cheek. "Stay the night."
My heart dropped.
I was quiet for a second too long, and he noticed. "Or maybe," he added, drawing back just enough to meet my eyes, "you're not ready."
The words struck deeper than they should've. But instead of backing away, I tilted my head and smiled, even if the knot in my stomach tightened with fear.
"I'm not a prize to be rushed into," I said.
He looked at me for a long moment. Then, to my surprise, he nodded once.
"Alright."
Just like that?
I blinked. "That's it?"
"I like a woman who knows what she wants," Marcus said, walking back to the bar like I hadn't just rejected him. "Stay for a drink. Then leave. Or stay for the night—on the couch. I won't touch you."
I stared at him, unsure if I should believe him.
He poured me another glass, placed it on the counter, and walked into another room, probably his bedroom. I didn't hear the door close. Didn't hear a lock.
He trusted me in his home?
That was reckless. Or maybe… he didn't see me as a threat.
I sat down on the black leather couch, crossing my legs again and resting the glass on the table beside me. I wouldn't drink it, but I'd stay—for a while.
I needed to gather more information anyway.
Still, a part of me felt relieved. I wasn't ready. Not to lose something so personal for the sake of a mission. Not to someone who didn't even know my real name.
I took a deep breath, glancing around his penthouse. I had made it through tonight. And now I had a foot in the door.
Now the game began.
But beneath the boldness and strength I wore like armor, I knew this was only the beginning.
I was dancing with danger. And danger had silver eyes.