As the hidden door creaked open, an unfamiliar current of air brushed past them—carrying with it the thick scent of sweet alcohol, over-sprayed perfume, and something sweat-slick and fevered, clinging like smoke to the skin.
The ceiling was low and heavy, the air subdued beneath curtains that flickered with crimson light—a pulse, like breath, undulating faintly in the dark.
And yet the room was eerily silent.
Half-dressed hostesses lay draped across couches, their limbs languid, their eyes unfocused.
Some slipped forward to coil arms around waists, their voices trailing off—slurred and weightless.
"Welcome, tonight's VIP."
By the time she and Noah were escorted to the private table by the guard—
Through the haze of cigarette smoke and velvet shadows, a silhouette began to take shape.
At the center of the lounge, reclined like a monarch surveying his court, was a man who radiated command even in stillness.
Luca Belloni.
Young politician.
Shadow of the Belloni family.
And tonight—the true master of this room.
The moment she saw him, something in Celeste froze.
Her lungs stopped.
She knew him.
A blurred face from memory.
A man once introduced as "a distant cousin of George's."
He had briefly worked as George's assistant, often passing through her parents' atelier.
"Celeste,"
he murmured, lifting his head.
Red light flared across his eyes—a gaze that pierced straight through her.
"It's been a while. What a… delightful reunion."
Her instincts flared.
She began to summon her power from deep within.
But before she could act—Luca's lips curved.
"Oh. I felt that."
He moved toward her with a velvet-soft step, leaning in close to her ear.
"You're one of us too, aren't you?"
Her eyes widened.
Her breath hitched.
Her fingers trembled.
"You look surprised. Did you really think you were the only one in the world with a gift worth fearing?"
Celeste clamped her lips shut, fighting to mask the shock.
Luca turned and dropped into the lounge opposite, a half-naked woman sliding easily onto his lap like muscle memory.
Even as he wrapped an arm around her, his eyes never left Celeste.
"So. You're here to negotiate a deal with us?"
The tone wasn't curious—it was mocking.
Celeste's jaw tightened.
A slow, dry fire crawled down her throat—less from thirst, more from the pressure coiling inside her.
She lifted the nearest glass and drank halfway—just enough for the burn to distract her from the rising unease.
As the liquor—what she'd assumed was just water—slid down her throat and burned all the way, Luca's eyes gleamed with quiet amusement.
He looked like a child who had just witnessed something deliciously cruel.
"Booked a hotel nearby?"
he asked Noah now, languidly.
"If not—there are rooms available here. Want one cleared?"
"What?"
Celeste snapped, alarm bleeding into her voice.
And then—the heat struck.
It roared beneath her skin, wild and fast.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Her breath shortened.
"...What the hell did you make me drink?"
She rose, bracing herself against the table.
Luca smiled, unhurried.
"Now now. Let's be accurate—you drank it. No one forced your hand."
He swirled his own glass, voice silk-slick.
"Relax. It's nothing fatal. No poison, no permanent damage. Just a little… enhancer. Heightens the heat, for a couple of hours. Call it seasoning."
He gestured lazily toward Noah.
"You don't have much time. Want that room or not?"
It sounded like a joke.
But the malice in it burned like acid.
Noah moved without thinking—pulling Celeste toward him, helping her to her feet.
"Enough. We're leaving."
Luca reclined with a slow smirk.
"As you wish. Enjoy yourself. I won't keep you."
Celeste clutched her forehead, trying to steady her breath.
Noah wrapped a careful arm around her shoulders, guiding her toward the exit.
The door closed behind them.
Silence settled again.
Luca lifted a finger.
One of his aides approached wordlessly.
"That charming little saboteur… Dig into where she's been, who she's playing. She didn't come to talk deals—she came to ruin mine."
He drained the rest of his drink.
The glass tapped against the table like a final note.
"…Let's give her a little warning."