365 nights of shadow

Chapter 1: The Predator and the Prey

SEBASTIAN

The air in the Monte Carlo underground was thick with the scent of overpriced cigars, vintage scotch, and the metallic tang of desperation. It was a smell I'd inhaled since I was old enough to hold a Beretta. From my vantage point on the mezzanine, the world below looked like an elaborate chessboard, and I was the only player who knew the rules had been rigged from the start.

"Everything is in place, Boss," Cassius said, his voice a low rumble behind my shoulder. He was a shadow in a bespoke suit, his eyes never stopping, scanning the exits, the dealers, the high-rollers. "The shipment is moving through the docks. The Russians are quiet. For now."

"Quiet is just another word for planning, Cassius," I replied, not turning around. I adjusted the cufflink on my left wrist-solid platinum, heavy like the weight of the empire I'd inherited and expanded with blood. "Keep them quiet permanently by the end of the week."

I didn't care about the money. I had more than most small nations. I cared about the control. My life was a series of calculated moves designed to eliminate variables. People were variables. Emotions were vulnerabilities. I had purged mine years ago, leaving nothing but a cold, efficient machine that wore a face the tabloids called 'breathtaking.' I knew what I was-a monster in a Tom Ford suit.

I took a sip of the Macallan 1926, the liquid burning a familiar path down my throat. My gaze swept over the baccarat table, and then, the world stopped.

The glass froze against my lips.

Down on the floor, tucked away near the far pillar, was a woman. She was petite, her frame almost swallowed by the chaos around her, but she stood with a spine made of steel. Her hair-long, dark, and shimmering like silk under the crystal chandeliers-fell down her back in waves I suddenly wanted to wrap around my fist.

My heart, a dormant organ I thought had turned to stone a decade ago, gave a violent, painful thud.

It was her.

The girl from the rainy night in London. The one who had looked at me not with fear, but with a strange, fleeting pity before she disappeared into the fog. I had spent years telling myself she was a hallucination brought on by exhaustion and a fresh bullet wound. But there she was. Real. Living. Breathing.

"Who is she?" I rasped, my voice sounding like gravel.

Cassius stepped forward, squinting. "The girl in the emerald dress? I'll find out."

"Don't just find out," I said, my grip tightening until the crystal glass began to groan under the pressure. I didn't look away. I couldn't. She was laughing at something her friend-a blonde with a sharp, guarded face-was saying. She looked happy. Untouched by the filth of my world.

I felt a dark, possessive hunger claw at my gut. It was a sick, twisted desire to rip that happiness away and replace it with myself. I wanted to see those eyes look at me again, but this time, I wanted them to see only me.

"She has three hours of freedom left, Cassius," I whispered, the predator in me finally awakening after years of sleep. "By midnight, she belongs to the crown."

ELARA

"Elara, if you bite your lip any harder, you're going to bleed all over that expensive silk, and I am not paying the dry-cleaning bill."

I snapped out of my trance and looked at Raven. My best friend was currently eyeing a waiter with the intensity of a hawk, probably deciding if he was worth the effort of a one-night stand or if she should just steal the bottle of champagne off his tray.

"I'm fine, Rave," I lied, smoothing down the skirts of my emerald green dress. "I just... I don't belong here. This place feels like it's built on secrets. It's making my skin crawl."

"It's Monaco, babe. The secrets are the only things that aren't fake," Raven said, finally snagging two flutes of bubbly. She handed one to me and clinked it against mine. "Drink. We are celebrating. You finally quit that dead-end job, Lucien is officially ancient history, and we are in the most beautiful place on earth. Stop worrying about the 'vibe' and start looking at the men. These are the kind of bank accounts that come with private islands."

I forced a smile and took a sip. Raven was right. I needed to let go. My life had been a series of 'safe' choices-safe jobs, safe apartments, and a very 'safe' (and boring) ex-boyfriend like Lucien, who thought a wild night was ordering extra pepperoni on a pizza. But deep down, I'd always felt like I was waiting for something. Or running from something I couldn't quite remember.

"I'm going to find the restroom," I said, needing a moment of silence away from the thumping bass and the smell of desperation.

"Don't get lost," Raven called out, already flirting with a guy who looked like he owned a yacht fleet.

I wove through the crowd, my heels clicking on the marble. As I passed the grand staircase leading to the private VIP lounges, a sudden, icy chill swept down my spine. It was a physical sensation, like a cold hand brushing against the nape of my neck.

I stopped. I shouldn't have looked up, but I did.

High above, standing at the gilded railing, was a man.

The breath left my lungs in a sharp gasp. He was beautiful in the way a storm is beautiful-terrifying and absolute. His hair was dark, his features carved from granite, and his eyes... even from this distance, I could feel them burning into me. He wasn't just looking at me; he was dissecting me.

He looked like power personified. Like the kind of man who didn't ask for things, but simply took them because the world was his playground. There was something familiar about the tilt of his head, a ghost of a memory from a night years ago that I'd tucked away in the darkest corner of my mind.

I felt a surge of raw, unadulterated fear, but beneath it-sickeningly-was a spark of electricity that made my blood hum.

I turned and walked faster, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Get out. Just get out, my brain screamed.

I pushed through the heavy doors toward the garden terrace, the cool night air hitting my face. I thought I was safe. I thought I was alone.

"Running so soon, Elara?"

The voice was deep, smooth as silk and twice as dangerous. I froze. Standing by the stone fountain was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a scarred cheek and eyes that saw everything. He wasn't the man from the balcony, but he had the same aura of lethal intent.

"How do you know my name?" I whispered, my hand flying to my throat.

"My employer has a very long memory," the man-Cassius, though I didn't know it yet-said calmly. He gestured toward a black limousine idling at the end of the private drive. "The jet is fueled. It would be much easier for everyone involved if you walked to the car yourself."

"I'm not going anywhere with you!" I snapped, my fear turning into a desperate, white-hot defiance. "I'll scream. I'll-"

"You'll do exactly what you're told," a new voice interrupted.

I turned. The man from the balcony was standing at the top of the terrace steps. Up close, he was even more overwhelming. He was a mountain of muscle and cold, hard intellect. He stepped down toward me, each movement predatory and effortless.

He stopped inches from me, his scent-sandalwood, leather, and expensive tobacco-filling my senses until I felt dizzy. He reached out, his gloved hand tilting my chin up so I had no choice but to drown in those dark, merciless eyes.

"You've kept me waiting for five years, Elara," Sebastian murmured, his thumb brushing over my lower lip in a gesture that was both a caress and a threat. "I'm not a patient man. You have 365 days to learn how to love me. But you only have five seconds to decide if you want to walk into that car, or if I have to carry you."

"Fuck you," I spat, my voice trembling even as I defied him.

A slow, dark smirk spread across his face-a look that promised a thousand nights of sin and retribution.

"I'm sure we'll get to that eventually," he whispered. "Cassius. Take her."

Before I could scream, the world went black.