Control is the currency of power.
I learned that young. You don’t beg. You don’t break. And you never—never—let anyone see what you truly want.
It’s how I built my empire. Blood and secrets laid the foundation; fear and loyalty keep the walls standing. I own this city — every street, every club, every whispered deal that trades hands under the table.
And it’s why I should’ve stayed the hell away from her.
But when you’ve already set fire to your soul, what’s one more sin?
I saw her for the first time at one of my clubs — the one on the river, where the walls vibrate with bass and the air reeks of whiskey, lust, and money.
She didn’t belong there.
Too clean. Too soft. Too bright to survive a place like that.
She was standing at the edge of the chaos, her black dress clinging to her like liquid night. Eyes wide, but not in fear. No — hers were sharp, curious, as though she was memorizing every detail.
And for reasons I couldn’t explain, that made something sharp twist in my chest.
The first time I spoke to her, I didn’t bother with charm.
“You’re a long way from home, love,” I said, my voice low, a warning wrapped in silk.
She blinked up at me. No flinch. No stutter. “Maybe I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
Brave little thing. She didn’t know what she’d just done.
Weeks passed, but she lingered like smoke. I’d see her at odd moments: a shadow in the corner of the club, a fleeting glimpse on a rain-slicked street, the quiet ghost that threaded through my nights until I stopped trying to forget her.
And maybe that’s why, when I found her tonight, I didn’t keep my distance.
The warehouse smells like gunpowder and rain. She’s standing there, framed in the glow of a single overhead light, her hair damp, her dress clinging to her curves. Too beautiful. Too breakable.
I stop in front of her, close enough that the sharp scent of rain and her perfume cuts through the metallic tang of the room.
“This world will eat you alive,” I tell her, my voice almost gentle. Almost.
She swallows hard, but her gaze never falters. “Maybe I’m already halfway gone.”
I reach for her, my fingers brushing her jaw, tilting her face up until those wide, unguarded eyes are locked on mine. Her pulse stutters beneath my thumb, betraying her.
“This city, this life, me—” the words curl around her like smoke, quiet but lethal, “we’ll ruin you. But you’ll thank me for it.”