You first notice him at the gala — tall, suit tailored like a weapon, a smirk that could cut glass. Carter Baizen moves through the crowd like he owns it, like every whispered conversation is his to overhear, every secret already in his pocket.

You tell yourself you’re not interested. People like him are trouble — the kind that doesn’t just burn you, it brands you. But trouble has a way of finding you.

It starts with a “coincidence.” He’s there when you’re about to be cornered by an overly persistent donor, sliding in with a champagne flute and a smooth “There you are, darling.” Later, you realize the whole situation was his doing. He engineered your rescue… just to have something to cash in later.

Then come the favors. An anonymous tip that saves your job. A package on your doorstep — expensive, perfectly chosen, with no note. And when you demand to know why, Carter just smiles. “Let’s call it… an investment.”

The first job together is “nothing big.” Just a quick revenge play on someone who deserved it, or so he claims. You’re supposed to watch from the sidelines, but you end up right in the middle, lying through your teeth with a rush in your veins you haven’t felt in years.

From there, the slide is easy. Each con is bigger than the last. Forged signatures. Ruined reputations. Friends who used to call you don’t anymore — Carter made sure of it. And somehow, you stop missing them.

Now he’s looking at you differently. Less like a pet project, more like a partner. “See? I told you this life would suit you,” he murmurs one night, eyes glinting. “You just needed someone to bring you to the edge.”

And maybe you’ve already stepped off it.