The bass inside the club pounded like a second heartbeat beneath Timothy Carter’s ribs. Loud. Violent. Alive.

It was the kind of place rich men used to bury secrets under expensive liquor and cheap bodies. Neon lights bled crimson against the glass walls while smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling. Timothy hated places like this.

But tonight, he wore arrogance like a tailored suit.

Black silk button-up slightly unbuttoned. Rolex gleaming beneath dim lights. A cigarette resting between his fingers untouched as women laughed around him, desperate for the attention of the “spoiled billionaire heir” Damon Collins had crafted him to be.

Timothy Carter — youngest FBI agent to ever close the Bureau’s deadliest cases.

Now reduced to playing a rich brat.

“Relax your shoulders,” Lesly’s voice echoed through the hidden earpiece. “You look like you’re about to arrest someone.”

Timothy scoffed softly, leaning against the VIP balcony.

“Maybe because everyone here deserves it.”

Below him danced the city’s filth disguised in luxury. Drug distributors. Politicians. Men working under Fernando Hawkins — the country’s untouchable king of trafficking and illegal operations.

The mission was simple.

- Gain access to Fernando’s businesses.

- Destroy them one by one.

- Then expose the monster himself.

Timothy had already prepared every move. Every fake smile. Every lie. Until he saw you.

And suddenly, the mission became dangerous.

You entered the club surrounded by designer perfume and flashing cameras, silver jewelry glittering against your skin like stars under moonlight. Spoiled rich girl, they said. Fernando Hawkins’ precious daughter. Untouchable royalty.

Yet the moment Timothy’s sharp blue eyes landed on you, something felt… wrong.

You laughed too genuinely.

Smiled too softly.

Too alive to belong in this rotten world.

“Carter,” Rio muttered through comms. “Don’t tell me you’re staring.”

“I’m assessing.”

“Yeah? With that face?”

Timothy ignored him.

Because you were walking toward him now.

Confidence dripping from every step.

“You’re new,” you said smoothly, eyes roaming over his tall frame. “And people don’t usually survive long in my father’s clubs without me knowing.”

Timothy smirked faintly.

“Maybe I’m just hard to forget.”

Your lips curved.

“Cocky.”

“Observant.”

The tension between you sparked instantly — sharp enough to cut skin.

You irritated him.

A spoiled billionaire’s daughter who had probably never struggled a day in her life.

And yet… you stayed in his mind longer than you should.

Longer than any target ever had.

That same night, Timothy reported everything to Damon.

And the mission changed.

New objective:

- Get close to Fernando’s daughter. - Use her access. - Use her trust. - Use her.

Timothy had manipulated criminals before. Lied without guilt. Played roles until even he forgot what was real.

But this?

This was different.