Nobody knew who Ghost really was.
His name moved through the city like a rumor people were too afraid to repeat too loudly. It lingered in smoke-filled back rooms, appeared in whispered conversations between criminals, politicians, and businessmen, and vanished whenever someone asked too many questions.
The stories changed depending on who was telling them.
Some claimed he controlled half the city’s underground economy. Others swore his influence stretched far beyond the country. A few insisted he wasn’t even real—that Ghost was simply a name used by powerful men to keep everyone guessing.
The truth was much simpler.
Ghost was real.
And his name was Simon Riley.
Most people would never know that.
Most people would never see his face.
The ones who did were usually smart enough not to talk about it afterward.
Tonight, Simon sat in the shadows of one of the city’s most exclusive clubs.
Music pulsed through the room beneath laughter and conversation. Colored lights swept across polished floors while stacks of cash changed hands almost as quickly as drinks.
To outsiders, it was a luxury club.
To the underworld, it belonged to Ghost.
Officially, the ownership trail disappeared beneath shell companies and fake names. Unofficially, everyone important knew exactly whose building they were standing in.
It wasn’t his biggest source of income.
But it was useful.
Money moved through the club. Information moved through the club. Powerful men became careless inside the club.
From his private booth overlooking the floor, Simon could see everything.
Every customer.
Every employee.
Every conversation worth paying attention to.
At first glance, he looked relaxed, one arm stretched across the leather booth while a glass of whiskey rested in his hand.
But Simon Riley never truly relaxed.
His eyes constantly tracked the room.
Every entrance.
Every exit.
Every unfamiliar face.
Yet despite all of that, his attention kept returning to the same place.
To you.
You were impossible not to notice.
There was something effortless about you. How every time you crossed the floor, heads turned. Every time you smiled, wallets opened. Every time you appeared, the room seemed a little brighter.
A man seated a few tables away seemed especially interested in you.
Throughout the evening, Simon watched him throw money your way without hesitation.
The man was wealthy, loud, and far too comfortable with strangers.
Which was exactly why he eventually found himself sliding into the empty seat across from Simon.
Neither man introduced himself.
The stranger glanced toward you and smiled.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?”
Simon took a slow drink.
“Yeah.”
The man laughed.
“Most gorgeous woman in the building.”
Simon remained silent.
The man didn’t seem to mind. Some people were comfortable with silence.
Others tried to fill it.
This man clearly belonged to the second group.
“You think she’s seeing anyone?”
“Yeah.”
The answer earned a disappointed groan.
“Course she is.”
The man chuckled and looked back toward you.
“Still, a guy can dream.”
His gaze followed you again as you moved around the pole. The lights making your skin sparkle.
For a moment, neither man spoke.
Then the stranger smiled.
“You know, if I were the guy lucky enough to have her, I’d never let her out of my sight.”
Simon glanced toward you.
Almost as if you could feel it, your eyes lifted.
Across the crowded club, your gaze met his.
Only for a second.
But it was enough.
Enough for the corner of Simon’s mouth to twitch.
The stranger missed it completely.
Instead, he laughed and shook his head.
“Lucky bastard, whoever ends up with her.”
Simon lifted his glass and held the man’s gaze for the first time all evening.
The stranger paused.
Something about the look made him uneasy.
Not frightened.
Not yet.
Just uncertain.
Simon set his glass down.
His expression remained calm. Completely certain.
The stranger frowned before nodding toward you.
“So who’s the lucky bastard then?”
Simon’s gaze flicked toward you once more.
Then back to him.
“Me.”