The rain fell in thin, sharp needles over the glass dome of the Oberon Hotel. The city below pulsed with neon, its skyscrapers glistening like wet blades. Jasmine stood across the street, her notebook tucked under her coat, her pulse steady despite the storm. She had been waiting for this night for months—the night when Ryan Walker would finally reveal himself.
He was a ghost in the world of business, a man whispered about in boardrooms and back alleys alike. Billionaire....Criminal.... Savior.... Destroyer. No one knew which version was true, but Jasmine had made it her mission to find out and tonight, the gates to his empire were wide open.
The Walker Foundation's annual gala was supposedly for charity, a glittering masquerade of wealth and power. Politicians, celebrities, tycoons—all cloaked in tuxedos and jewels—streamed through the golden entrance. Jasmine adjusted the silver mask she had borrowed, slipped the forged invitation from her pocket, and walked toward the light.
Inside, the air smelled of roses and expensive whiskey. Crystal chandeliers spilled golden light over marble floors. Waiters in black and white glided through the crowd with trays of champagne. The orchestra hummed low, drowning beneath the buzz of conversation.
Jasmine's eyes scanned the ballroom. She was here for one thing: evidence. Proof that Ryqn's billions were built on blood.
And then—she saw him.
Ryan Walker stood near the grand staircase, towering above the crowd in his tailored black suit. His presence was magnetic—shoulders broad, jaw sharp, dark eyes that seemed to pierce straight through the noise. People clustered around him like moths circling fire, desperate for his attention. He gave them nothing more than a faint smile, the kind that said he already owned the world and didn't need their approval.
Jasmine felt her throat tighten. She had studied his photographs a hundred times, but in person he was something else—dangerously alive, the kind of man who could ruin you with a glance or save you with a whisper.
But she couldn't let herself be distracted.
Pulling her mask lower, she blended into the crowd, drifting past men with champagne flutes and women dripping in diamonds. She noticed security men everywhere—broad-shouldered, silent, their eyes trained on the guests with calculated coldness.
Her lead had been simple: whispers of a meeting tonight, in secret, upstairs. Something to do with shipments, something not meant for the gala's golden glow. If she could just find out who Ryan was meeting, she'd finally have her story.
She waited until the orchestra swelled, the guests turning toward the stage for the evening's performance. Then she slipped through a side corridor, her heels barely making a sound against the marble.
The corridor curved into darkness, lined with closed doors. Jasmine's breath caught as voices echoed from the end of the hall. She edged closer, careful to stay in the shadows.
"…you're late," a deep voice said—Ryan's. She knew it instantly.
Another man replied, his tone nervous, almost shaking "The shipment—there were complications. The police—"
A sound cut him off. Not words. A sharp, metallic crack.
Jasmine froze.
The man's voice gurgled, then fell silent. She peeked around the corner—her heart stopped.
Ryan Walker stood in the center of the room, his suit immaculate, his hand wrapped around a pistol still smoking. At his feet lay another man, blood seeping across the polished floor.
Jasmine's pulse thundered in her ears.
She had wanted proof. She had just found it.
But before she could retreat, the heel of her shoe clicked against the floor.
Ryan's head snapped up. His eyes locked on hers in the shadows.
Jasmine's breath caught in her throat.
For a moment, neither moved. His gaze burned into her, sharp and unreadable. Then—he smiled..... Slow.... Dangerous. Like a predator realizing the prey had walked willingly into its den.
"Step inside," he said softly.
Her instinct screamed at her to run but her legs betrayed her, carrying her forward into the light.
The dead man's body was sprawled at her feet, the blood shockingly bright against the white marble. Jasmine forced herself not to look, her chin tilting up, her eyes on Ryan.
He set the gun down on the desk, never breaking eye contact. "You're not supposed to be here."
Her voice shook, but only slightly. "Neither is he."
A flicker of amusement touched his lips. "Clever. What's your name?"
Every instinct told her not to answer. But lying felt even more dangerous "Jasmine..."
"Hmm." his gaze swept over her, lingering—not in the way of a man casually admiring a woman, but like someone cataloguing every detail, every weakness. "Jasmine.... You've seen something you shouldn't have."
Her pulse raced. She wanted to scream at him, to accuse him of murder, to run to the police but instead she said: "Maybe I didn't see enough."
The words surprised her as much as they seemed to surprise him. His smile deepened, and for the first time, something almost like heat flickered in his eyes.
"Brave," he murmured. He stepped closer.
Jasmine felt her breath catch as the air between them tightened. The scent of him—smoke, cedar, and something darker—wrapped around her. His nearness was suffocating, yet intoxicating.
He lifted a hand, brushing a lock of hair from her face. His touch was warm, deliberate. "Curiosity is dangerous, Jasmine."
She forced herself not to flinch "So is underestimating me."
His chuckle was low, dangerous "I like you."
And then, with the body cooling at their feet and thunder shaking the glass dome above, Ryan Walker leaned close—so close she could feel his breath against her skin—and whispered, "Now you belong to me."
The room seemed to shrink around her. Jasmine could still hear the echo of the gunshot, smell the faint sting of cordite mixing with the metallic tang of blood. She should have screamed. She should have run. Instead, she stood frozen while Ryan Walker's hand lingered near her cheek, his eyes studying her as though he had already decided her fate.
"You don't belong here," he said again, quieter this time. Not a threat. A statement of fact.
Her jaw tightened "Neither do you—if this gala is supposed to be for charity."
His lips curved into a faint smile. "Ah..... So you do know who I am. Not just another pretty guest in a mask." He stepped back slightly, sliding his pistol into the drawer of the desk as if it were no more dangerous than a pen. "Tell me, Jasmine… are you here by accident, or are you hunting me?"
The question sliced through the air. Jasmine's stomach twisted, but she forced herself to keep her face steady "Maybe I was just curious."
"Curiosity." His eyes glinted, amused, though the edge of his voice was sharp "A flame that burns most people alive."
The body at her feet was proof enough of that.
Ryan studied her for a long moment, his silence more terrifying than any threat. Then he moved past her toward the door "Walk with me."
Jasmine blinked "What?"
"Unless you want to end up like him." He didn't look back, but the warning was clear.
Her pulse thundered. She wanted to run, to escape this gilded prison before she was consumed by it but her feet carried her forward, following him down the darkened corridor. The hem of her gown brushed the marble floor, her heels clicking softly.
At the end of the hallway, two of his guards stood waiting—black-suited, silent, their gazes cold and unreadable. Ryan nodded once, and without question, they dragged the body inside and shut the door. No hesitation.... No shock..... Just obedience.
Jasmins chest tightened. If she screamed, no one in the glittering ballroom beyond would even hear. This was his world.....his rules.
As they moved through another corridor, Ryan finally glanced at her. "Who sent you?"
"No one."
"You expect me to believe that?"
Her lips curved faintly, despite the dread crawling through her veins. "You shot a man in front of me, Mr. Walker. And you're worried about whether I'm telling the truth?"
That earned her something—a flash of something unreadable in his eyes. Amusement? Respect? She couldn't tell.
They reached a side door, hidden behind velvet curtains. Ryan pushed it open, leading her out into a narrow balcony overlooking the storm-washed city. The rain had slowed, but thunder still rolled above, the skyline glowing with restless neon.
Jasmine gripped the railing, the cold air biting her skin. For the first time since she stepped into that hallway, she could breathe.
But Ryan was still beside her.
"You have a choice," he said quietly, his tone so calm it chilled her "Forget what you saw. Walk away Or—"
"Or?" she whispered.
"Step into my world. A world where there is no walking away."
The words sent a shiver down her spine. His voice wasn't just a threat. It was a promise.
Jasmine turned to him, searching his face for cracks—for some weakness she could exploit but there were none. His expression was unreadable, his presence overwhelming.
"You kill a man, and now you're offering me… what, a partnership?" she asked.
"No." His gaze darkened, his eyes tracing her face with unnerving precision "I'm offering you survival."