Owned By Midnight

The club was called Midnight-because it didn't exist before then. No signs, no website, no menu. Just a polished black door in a side alley of Manhattan's Lower East Side, guarded by a man built like a wall and a voice in his earpiece that decided who was important enough to walk in.

Amara Blake wasn't one of those people.

She wasn't a hedge fund manager, a movie star, or the daughter of a senator-not anymore, at least. She wore black heels she'd re-soled twice, carried pepper spray in her clutch, and took the subway to her classes during the day and to Midnight by night. Every shift she poured overpriced drinks for powerful men with glassy eyes and wallets that didn't end.

And on most nights, they didn't even see her.

But tonight, someone did.

He was seated in the back corner booth, half-hidden in shadows and smoke, watching her like she'd walked into a game she didn't know she was playing. Tall. Sharp suit. A face that was all harsh angles, too good-looking in a way that made people uncomfortable. The kind of man who didn't have to ask for anything-he expected it handed to him.

Lucien Vale.

She recognized him from headlines. A billionaire investor. Club owner. The kind of man who could make or destroy a company with a single phone call. She had no business being in his line of sight, and yet-he didn't look away.

Not when she met his gaze by accident. Not when she turned her back and poured shots for a bachelorette group. Not when she dropped a napkin and stood too quickly.

He was still watching her.

She moved faster, slipped behind the bar, and grabbed the tray for VIP table seven. Her hands were steady, but her chest felt tight. Heat. Awareness. Not fear-worse. Curiosity.

"Hey, you okay?" Carla, the bartender, asked, noticing the flush on Amara's cheeks.

"Fine," she said too quickly. "Just hot."

Carla smirked. "Lucien Vale doesn't usually look at the help."

Amara's stomach tightened. "I don't care who he is."

Carla gave her a knowing look but didn't push. Amara picked up the tray and made her way to table seven-away from his booth, away from his stare-but she still felt it. A pressure at the back of her neck like she'd been marked.

The rest of the shift was a blur of music, laughter, fake smiles, and overly generous tips. Midnight didn't close until 4 a.m., and by then, her feet were screaming and her throat was dry.

She clocked out, threw on her hoodie, and slipped out through the staff exit into the chilled night air.

"Miss Blake."

The voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

She turned.

Lucien Vale stood at the edge of the alley, just beyond the flickering streetlamp, dressed in black, his tie undone, sleeves rolled up like the night had worn him too. His eyes were impossibly clear and focused, like he'd stepped from another world and dragged the silence with him.

"How do you know my name?" she asked, swallowing hard.

He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, like a predator that had all the time in the world.

"I never forget a face," he said. "Especially not one that once sat in the front row of a boardroom I used to own."

Her heart dropped. Ice spread through her chest.

"You knew my father," she whispered.

Lucien's expression didn't change, but something in his jaw tightened.

"I knew what your father did."

She felt her throat close. "If you're looking for a confession or closure, I was seventeen. I didn't steal anything."

"I'm not looking for either," he said, voice low. "But I do find it... interesting. That you're here. In my club."

"It's just a job."

"No," he said, stepping closer. "Now it's an opportunity."

She narrowed her eyes. "What kind of opportunity?"

Lucien smiled-but it wasn't kind. It was calculating.

"One where you work for me. In my office. Starting tomorrow. Or," he paused, "I let the press know where the infamous Amara Blake has been hiding these past few years."

Her world tilted. "You wouldn't."

He shrugged. "You can choose, Miss Blake. Obscurity or survival."

She stared at him, heart hammering.

This was a game.

And somehow, she'd just been dragged into the center of it.