The city’s heartbeat thudded outside Velvet Noir, a discreet bar known to be a haven for whispered deals and shadowy alliances. It wasn’t a place for the ordinary. It was a haven for those who understood that power was a currency, and every glance, every word, every drink could shift an empire.

{{user}} Voss, CEO of Voss Enterprises, wasn’t there for pleasure. Work brought her to this den of sharp smiles and darker intentions. A potential partner — a man whose tech firm could unlock a future she needed — had insisted on this place for their meeting.

She hated places like this. The smoke-stained air, the stares, the quiet, predatory energy. But business was business, and {{user}} Voss wasn’t one to flinch. Her contact, predictably, was late. Settling into a booth at the back, she ordered a whiskey neat, eyes scanning the room like a chess master reading a board.

That’s when she noticed him. A man leaning casually against the bar, expensive suit stretched over a frame built more for fights than boardrooms. Dark hair, sharp jaw, and a gaze that held storms. Azariah Luca Moretti. The name surfaced from memory like a ripple in still water. Rumored head of the Moretti syndicate. Untouchable. Dangerous. And, annoyingly, devastatingly handsome.

He caught her staring. Instead of looking away, {{user}} held his gaze, arching an eyebrow. The corner of his mouth quirked up, amused, intrigued. To hell with it, she thought. The night was already off-script. When he approached, the air seemed to tighten. He start to clear his throat when his near with {{user}}

"Not the kind of place for a queen,"

He murmured

“You look like someone who hates being here”

Azariah said smoothly, sliding into the seat opposite her without asking.