The morning sun didn't stand a chance against the heavy, motorized blackout curtains in Roman's private study. The room was a fortress of leather and cold steel, illuminated only by the blue glow of four oversized monitors. Roman hadn't slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard the haunting, melodic lilt of a voice that promised peace, and saw the shimmer of a blue silk dress that promised trouble.
He sat behind his desk, his jaw set in a hard line, his fingers steepled. He was a man who thrived on information. Knowledge was the currency of power, and Roman Thorne was the richest man in the city. Yet, for the first time in a decade, he was staring at a void.
"Tell me you have something," Roman growled into the speakerphone.
"Sir," his lead assistant, Marcus, sounded weary. "We've run the name through every database we own. Social security, tax records, even the underground talent registries. 'VioletNoir' doesn't exist. It's a ghost. It's a stage name, and whoever she is, she's protected by an ironclad privacy agreement with The Gilded Lily."
Roman's eyes darkened. He turned his gaze to the second monitor, where his head of IT, a man who could hack into the Pentagon if given enough caffeine, was on a video call.
"I've gone through the club's digital payroll, Mr. Thorne," the IT specialist admitted, rubbing his eyes. "The owner, a guy named Silas, is old-school. He pays his headliners in cash or through a shell corporation. I tracked the bank transfers, but they lead to a dead-end trust in the Cayman Islands. Whoever set up her digital footprint did it with the intention of staying invisible."
Roman slammed his fist onto the desk, the heavy thud echoing in the silent room. "You're telling me a woman who stands in a spotlight every night, whose voice is the most recognizable thing in this city, is a ghost? How is that possible?"
"She doesn't have social media, sir," Marcus added. "No Instagram, no TikTok. The only place her name appears is on the club's roster. She starts her sets at 9:00 PM sharp, Tuesday through Saturday. We found three tracks available for high-res download on a private audiophile site. That's it. No address, no real name, no history."
Roman exhaled a sharp, frustrated breath. He hated mysteries. He liked facts. He liked leverage. But VioletNoir was an enigma wrapped in silk.
"Send the links to the music to my personal device," Roman commanded. "And keep digging. Check gym memberships in the three-block radius of the club. Check local boutiques that sell high-end vintage gowns. She has to live somewhere."
"Yes, sir."
The line went dead. Roman leaned back, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He felt a strange, restless energy vibrating in his chest- a mix of his natural aggression and a new, confusing hunger. He reached out and tapped a key on his laptop.
The room was suddenly filled with the sound of a cello, followed by that voice.
"In the shadow of the moon, I wait for you..."
It was a studio recording, cleaner than the live performance, but it possessed the same soul-shaking quality. It was a voice that belonged to a woman who had seen the world and decided to be kind anyway. It was angelic, soothing the jagged edges of Roman's psyche like a balm on an open wound. He closed his eyes, visualizing the way her long blonde hair had shimmered under the stage lights, the way her curves had looked beneath that clinging silk.
The heavy door to the study creaked open. Roman's eyes snapped open and he immediately masked his expression, his protective instincts rising. But it wasn't a threat.
Adam stood in the doorway, wearing his favorite dinosaur pajamas, rubbing his eyes with one hand and clutching a stuffed wolf in the other. He stopped, his ears perking up as the music filled the room.
"Is that Violet?" Adam's voice was high and full of sudden, electric excitement.
Roman's hand hovered over the 'stop' button, but he hesitated. "Yes, Adam. It's her."
The five-year-old scrambled across the room, his small feet pattering on the hardwood floor until he was standing right next to Roman's chair. He leaned against his father's muscular arm, looking at the spinning digital record on the screen.
"She sounds like the stars," Adam whispered, a wide, gap-toothed grin spreading across his face. He looked up at Roman, his blue eye shining. "Can we go see her again? Please? Today? She was so nice to me, Daddy. She gave me the good crackers and she told me the nanny was a marshmallow."
Roman felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. The marshmallow comment reminded him of her sharp, silver tongue.
"She's working, Adam. And it's a place for grown-ups."
"But she said I was a gentleman!" Adam argued, his lower lip beginning to poke out. "She's funny. And she's really, really pretty. Like a movie." He paused, a flush of pink hitting his cheeks. "I think... I think I love her."
Roman froze. He looked down at his son, seeing the pure, innocent adoration on the boy's face. "You have a crush on her, Ace?"
Adam nodded vigorously, hugging his stuffed wolf tighter. "Yeah. She's the prettiest girl in the whole world. I want to give her a flower. A big blue one to match her eyes."
For a split second, a hot, sharp spike of something ugly pierced Roman's chest. It was jealousy. A raw, possessive heat that flared up before his rational brain could even process it.
He was jealous of his five-year-old son.
The realization hit him like a physical blow. He stared at the child, feeling a wave of absurdity wash over him. 'It's a child, Roman. He's five. Get a grip'. But the feeling didn't entirely vanish. He didn't like the idea of anyone- even his own flesh and blood, claiming a space in Violet's heart before he did. He wanted to be the one she smiled at. He wanted to be the one who earned that angelic look in her eyes.
Roman cleared his throat, his voice coming out deeper and rougher than intended. "She's a busy woman, Adam. But... we'll see. Maybe we can send her those flowers."
"Really?" Adam jumped up and down. "Can I pick them?"
"Sure, Ace. Go get your breakfast. Tell Mrs. Higgins you want the blue berries today."
As Adam sprinted out of the room, shouting about blue flowers and "Princess Violet," Roman turned back to his monitors. He played the song again, leaning his head back and letting the music wash over him.
He was a man who had always taken what he wanted through sheer force of will. He had built an empire on aggression and darkness. But as he listened to VioletNoir sing about love and light, he realized that he didn't just want to find her. He wanted to understand how a woman like that existed in a world like his.
And more than that, he wanted to see if her skin felt as much like silk as her voice sounded.
He picked up his phone and dialed Marcus again.
"Sir?"
"Cancel my dinner meeting with the London board tonight," Roman said, his voice cold and commanding. "And call Silas at The Gilded Lily. Tell him I want the center booth. The one right against the stage. If anyone else is sitting there, I don't care what it costs- move them."
"Of course, Mr. Thorne. Will you be bringing your son?"
Roman thought of Adam's innocent crush and the way Violet had looked in that dress. A dark, possessive smirk touched his lips.
"No," Roman said. "This trip is just for me."