AMALIA's POV
I counted the exits twice before stepping inside.
Every door, every shadowed corner, every waiter who could be watching too closely.I needed an escape if tonight went wrong.
Golden light spilled across the polished marble beneath my heels. From the outside, this lounge looked like any luxury hotel: tasteful, expensive. Inside, it hid predators.
Men like Trevor Jones didn't conduct real business in public. They hid it behind smiles, champagne, and charity.
I adjusted the sleeve of my black dress. It wasn't flashy or too modest but precise. Every detail of my appearance had been calculated. Not to impress but to control perception.
A hostess opened the door with a polite smile.
"Good evening, ma'am."
I nodded once and stepped inside.
The air shifted immediately. Low music, soft laughter, expensive perfume lingering just beneath the surface. .
My eyes scanned the room once—quick and subtle. Politicians. Investors. Socialites. Predators dressed as saviors.
