Chapter 1 The First Dance

The bass throbbed low-slow, like a lover's breath just before the kiss. Velvet smoke curled in the air of Valerio Noir, the exclusive, members-only club where secrets wore silk and sins came dressed in stilettos.

Celene Rivera adjusted the black mask over her eyes as she stepped behind the red velvet curtain, heart hammering like a warning. She could feel it-hundreds of eyes waiting beyond that veil of light, but one pair in particular burned hotter than the rest. He hadn't spoken to her. Not once. But he came every Thursday.

He always sat in the second-floor booth. Alone. Watching.

Tonight, she was dancing for him.

The curtain pulled back, and she walked out barefoot, wearing nothing but a silver-strapped bodysuit that clung like skin and shimmered under the spotlight. The room hushed. The music dropped to a low hum, like danger approaching in the dark.

She moved-slow, feline. Each sway of her hips was deliberate, each glance over her shoulder intentional. But her gaze never reached the shadows where he sat. She didn't need to. His presence was a pull on her spine, magnetic and cold.

She could feel him.

He always wore black. Never smiled. Never drank. He simply sat-legs spread wide, elbow on the armrest, fingers on his jaw, as if calculating which part of her soul he wanted to bite first.

She twirled, dropped low, arched her back. The air shifted. That same chill. He was watching.

By the time the music faded, her breath was shallow, thighs trembling-not from exertion, but from something she couldn't name. Not fear. *Not yet.* But it clung to her skin like heat.

As the lights dimmed, she turned toward the exit.

❦

"Don't move."

The voice was velvet and fire-low, masculine, and close.

She froze. Every cell in her body stiffened. She knew that voice. Not from the stage. Not from whispers in the locker room. But from her nightmares.

"You danced like you were searching for something," he said behind her. "Or someone."

She swallowed. "Do all men speak in riddles or just the wealthy creeps who buy silence?"

He chuckled-a dark, broken sound. "Silence doesn't tempt me."

"What does?" she asked, trying not to tremble.

His fingers brushed her waist from behind, barely a touch-but it traveled like lightning across her spine.

*Don't react. Don't flinch.* But her breath betrayed her.

"You do," he said simply.

She turned, eyes searching his. The mask did nothing to hide the sharp cut of his jaw, the darkness in his irises.

"You don't even know me," she whispered.

"I don't need to," he replied, stepping close enough that she could smell danger clinging to his skin like cologne. "I can smell the lie in your perfume."

*He knows.*

She shoved his hand off. "I'm not here for men like you."

"Then why are you here at all?"

She hesitated. Truth tangled in her throat like a secret too ugly to swallow.

"To disappear," she said, lying.

He stared, then stepped back, but not before sliding something into her palm-a black card with silver ink.

Adrian Valerio.

Below his name: *You danced like you belonged to someone. Next time, belong to me.*

Her fingers clenched the card.

*Adrian.*

So that was his name.

And somehow, she already hated how it felt in her mouth.

But it wouldn't be the last time she said it.

Not even close.