Chapter 3 Velvet Trap

Maison Pierre glittered like a glass castle under the city night, wrapped in soft jazz and the aroma of old money. It was the kind of place that made you walk slower, like even your shoes had to respect the carpet.

Celene hesitated at the revolving door. Her dress clung to her body like melted wine-crimson, backless, and sinful. Jazmine had loaned it with a warning: "Return it with either regrets or stories."

*God, what am I doing here?*

Inside, the maître d' barely glanced at her before bowing. "Miss Rivera, this way."

*Of course. He already owns the whole damn scene.*

The private booth sat tucked behind a velvet curtain. A single candle flickered in the center. And there he was-Adrian Valerio in obsidian black, collar undone, like he'd just ruined someone's night and came to ruin hers next.

He stood as she entered. "You came."

"I was curious," she said, sliding into the booth. "Curiosity doesn't mean commitment."

Adrian smirked. "Yet you wore red."

She hated that it made her flush. "Red hides stains."

"Does it hide sin?"

Their waiter appeared like a ghost, pouring wine before either of them spoke. Adrian lifted his glass. "To first steps."

Celene raised hers slowly. "To unfinished business."

Their glasses clinked. Fire surged down her throat.

"So," she said, "What is this? Some weird power trip? You stalking dancers now?"

"I don't stalk. I revisit." He leaned forward. "We knew each other once."

Her pulse thudded. "That was a lifetime ago."

"I remember every second."

She laughed bitterly. "Do you remember walking away too?"

His expression didn't falter. But his jaw clenched.

"Celene..." His voice softened. "I didn't walk. I was dragged by circumstance."

"And now what? You're dragging me back?"

"I'm offering you a choice. Money. Safety. Everything you've clawed for, without the blood."

"And in return?"

Adrian's eyes darkened. "Your obedience. In public, you'll be mine. On paper, we're nothing. In private..." He paused. "You'll be anything I want."

A silence fell. Thick. Charged. Her breath tangled in her throat.

*Say no. Say no and walk away like a sane woman.*

But her mouth betrayed her.

"What happens if I say yes?"

He leaned back, satisfied. "Then tomorrow, your life ends-and begins all over again."

She stared at the wine, at her reflection in the polished glass. A dancer. A survivor. A sinner.

And maybe soon... a kept woman with a loaded past.

            
            

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