Ashes of desire

The smell of Chanel and betrayal still clung to the bedsheets when Isla walked out of Ethan's penthouse for the last time.

It was a scent she would never forget-cheap lust wrapped in expensive perfume. Isla Monroe stood motionless at the foot of the bed for a heartbeat longer than she should have. Her eyes traced the tangled sheets where her boyfriend had just been with her best friend. Best friend. The irony made her stomach twist.

"Isla-wait!" Ethan's voice rang from the bathroom, but she was already walking, her heels clicking like gunshots against the marble floor.

She didn't scream. Didn't cry. Not when she slammed the door, not when she rode the elevator down twenty-seven floors, and not when the icy New York wind slapped her face on the curb. Isla Monroe was done playing victim. Tonight, heartbreak died-and something colder, sharper, and infinitely more dangerous was born.

By midnight, Isla was in a red satin dress she couldn't afford, crashing a party she wasn't invited to.

The Voss Empire Annual Gala. Wealth, power, sin all dressed up in tuxedos and diamond chokers. Ethan would be there with his elite friends, playing the golden boy. But Isla wasn't here for him anymore.

She was here for his father.

Damien Voss.

A name that made CEOs tremble and mistresses smile. He was the ghost behind every billion-dollar deal and the scandal no reporter dared touch. Isla had only seen him once, from afar-at a dinner Ethan had refused to let her attend. Damien Voss didn't mingle with students or girlfriends. He was above all that.

But tonight, Isla wasn't a student. She was a storm.

The ballroom was a glass palace-crystal chandeliers, gold-trimmed columns, and violins slicing the air with something elegant and tragic. Isla moved through it like a spark hunting dry kindling.

Then she saw him.

Damien stood near the bar in a black suit that fit like sin. No tie. Just the undone top button of his shirt, revealing a throat lined with shadows. His eyes were cold steel-watching everything, revealing nothing. People parted when he moved. Even in stillness, he commanded.

He looked nothing like Ethan. Ethan played power. Damien was power.

And suddenly, Isla wasn't acting anymore. She wanted him-not just to hurt Ethan, but to feel something that burned hot enough to make her forget the ash she'd become.

So she walked up to him.

"You're standing where all the interesting people aren't," she said, pretending not to care that her heart was slamming against her ribs.

Damien didn't blink. His gaze raked her, slow and clinical. "And you're not on the guest list."

"You memorized it?"

"I memorized everything worth knowing."

His voice was velvet wrapped around a blade.

Isla smiled. "Then you'll want to know me."

That earned a flicker of something in his eyes-surprise, maybe, or amusement. "I doubt that."

"You will," she said. "Soon."

Damien turned fully to face her now, one brow arched. "What's your name?"

She tilted her head, lips curving. "Does it matter?"

Damien leaned in slightly. "It will when I ask my security to escort you out."

She leaned in closer. "You won't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not here for your money," she whispered, her lips inches from his. "I'm here to ruin someone."

And just like that, the temperature shifted. Damien's gaze sharpened, narrowed. He wasn't smiling-but he wasn't dismissing her either.

"Who?" he asked quietly.

"Your son."

The air between them froze.

For a moment, Isla thought she'd gone too far. Then Damien chuckled, low and dangerous.

"You've got nerve," he said, sipping his drink, never taking his eyes off her. "And a very risky game."

Isla shrugged, her smile bitter. "Risk is how you win, right?"

He studied her again, slower this time. Not like a man looking at a girl-but like a man looking at a puzzle he intended to solve.

"We'll see," he said at last. "Enjoy the gala... Isla Monroe."

She froze.

She hadn't told him her name.

Damien Voss smiled, and this time, it was wolfish.

Game on.