Chapter 2

AVERY – 

The club is hidden at the end of a narrow, gated alley. There’s no flashy sign, just a sleek brass plaque with a single word engraved in elegant script: Lilith. Two bouncers flank the entrance, their bodies all solid muscle and immovable presence. Tiny blue lights glow from their earpieces, cutting through the dimness. Eli steps forward, says a name I don’t catch, follows it with a password, and flashes a smile that’s all pure, effortless charm. My heart is hammering against my ribs. For a long second, I’m certain they’ll stop us, ask for identification we don’t have, and escort us right back out to the street.

But instead, the heavy door swings inward without a sound.

The bass hits me first. It’s not just sound; it’s a physical force, a deep, resonant thrum that vibrates up through the soles of my boots and settles in my chest, syncing with my own frantic heartbeat.

Inside, it’s…

Damn.

It’s like stepping into another world. The air is thick and layered – the sweet, heavy scent of expensive perfume, the primal, musky hint of sex, and the sharp, woody aroma of cigar smoke. It’s not dark, but drenched in a dim, smoldering light, all deep reds and burnished gold, painting long, shifting shadows across low-slung leather couches and the glittering surfaces of crystal glasses.

The walls are all sleek black and burnished brass, curving gently inward like the space is wrapping around itself. There are alcoves and corners and staircases I can’t see the end of, like the club was designed to seduce and confuse at the same time.

And then there’s the people. Women, mostly. Everyone is stunning, but it’s a calculated, deliberate kind of beauty. Every strand of hair, every piece of lace, silk, or fitted leather feels intentional. A low, purring laugh drifts from a nearby booth. In a shadowy corner, one woman presses her lips to another’s neck in a gesture so intimate it seems to erase everyone else around them.

I feel utterly, painfully out of place. My boots feel loud against the floor, my shirt too buttoned, my jeans too casual. I glance down, suddenly aware that I look like I came here by mistake – and that a few people have already noticed.

Eli grins, his eyes bright with excitement. “Tell me this isn’t already the best birthday you’ve ever had.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “The bar is low.”

He nudges me playfully with his shoulder and leads me to the main floor, passing groups that glance our way but don’t stop us.

Eli moves with a confidence I can only mimic poorly. I follow in his wake, trying to absorb everything without looking like I’m staring.

There’s a long, curved bar trimmed in dark wood and gold filigree. The bartenders work with a silent, fluid precision, their eyes meeting patrons’ gazes, understanding orders without a word spoken.

“I think I might pass out,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the music.

“You’re fine.” Eli nudges me. “You’re just curious.”

He’s right. A nervous, thrilling curiosity is coiling in my stomach, overpowering the anxiety. I let my gaze travel – up to the shrouded balconies, across the dance floorwhere bodies move in sensual waves, grinding, touching and kissing. 

I swipe my eyes from one face to another and stop dead in my tracks when they land on her.

Across the room, seated on the edge of an elevated private lounge, a woman holds herself with a stillness so absolute it’s mesmerizing. She is the absolute opposite of the glittering, exposed energy of the club. Dressed in a severely tailored black suit, impeccable and sharp. Her polished black nails matching her shoulder-length hair, a perfect dark frame for her face. Her lips are a dark, wine-red, and her eyes are even darker. 

And they are fixed directly on me.

It isn’t a casual glance. It’s a focused, unwavering stare, and the intensity of it steals the air from my lungs. It’s not just that she’s beautiful, though she is, devastatingly so, in a way that feels almost dangerous. It’s that her entire attention is a laser, and I am the only target.

I swallow hard, a flush of heat prickling across the back of my neck. “Who is that?” I whisper to Eli, my voice tight.

He follows my gaze, but by the time he looks, she has already turned her head away, engaging in quiet conversation with a woman beside her.

“No idea,” he says with a shrug. “But with that suit? Probably someone who owns half the city.”

I can’t stop looking at her, even though she gives no indication she’s aware of me anymore. The impression of her gaze is burned into me, and I can still feel the weight of it.

***

VICTORIA –

She entered, and the carefully constructed chaos of the club seemed to still. It’s clear that she is so obviously out of place that she becomes the most interesting person in the room. Everyone else here works to blend in, to become part of the carefully crafted atmosphere of dark velvet and low light. But she? She walks like she’s testing the floor, her shoulders slightly tense, her eyes wide behind a pair of practical, round glasses.

I notice her immediately.

Long brown hair, loose and wavy, the kind that doesn’t bother obeying a brush. Round glasses she keeps nudging higher, as if the lenses might help her make sense of this place. Faded jeans, scuffed boots, a button-down shirt with the collar slightly open – showing skin that doesn’t quite fit here but isn’t entirely unwelcome either. It’s all wrong for Lilith, and yet, it makes her stand out like a single clean line on a smudged page. She is unpolished. Real.

From my usual table — set back and elevated, shielded by layers of sheer black curtain — I have a clear view of the entire floor. It’s a position of control. I can observe without being observed. That’s the idea anyway.

She follows her friend, a man who moves with the easy confidence of someone who knows how to navigate spaces like this. He belongs. She does not, but I can see the curiosity in the way she scans the room, trying to take in every detail without being obvious about it. The music, a low, throbbing bassline, seems to unsettle her; I watch her shift her weight, a subtle, unconscious movement. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and I see the faint tremor in her fingers.

That small sign of vulnerability is what holds my attention. It’s more compelling than any practiced performance.

I sip my drink – vermouth over ice, always the same – and watch her take it all in.

Her gaze sweeps the room and lands directly on me.

Her eyes lock with mine. She doesn’t look away. She doesn’t flinch. She just… stops.

Good. I appreciate that. So many people can’t hold a stare.

For a long moment, we just look at each other, and I feel a quiet, definite click of connection. There is a softness to her face, but her gaze is steady. I can see a core of strength there, even if she isn’t fully aware of it yet.

The chair besides me slides back with the quiet scrape of wood on polished floor as Jennifer sits down. She arranges herself with the familiar ease of ownership, crossing one leg over the other.

“You’re staring,” she says.

“I’m observing.”

Jennifer follows my line of sight, her gaze settling on the woman in the flannel shirt. She looks back at me, one eyebrow raised. “Do you want me to have her brought up?”

“No,” I say, taking a slow sip of my vermouth as I force myself to turn my gaze away from the woman. “Put her on the soft list. No one touches her. No one approaches her. No one rushes her.”

Jennifer’s expression shifts to one of mild surprise, but she doesn’t question me. She knows what the order means. The instruction will be passed quietly through the staff. The girl will be left alone, protected by my interest.

I want to see what she does. I want to watch how she moves through this space when she’s left to her own devices. How long it will take for her to seek me out again.

The club’s energy pulses around us — the murmur of conversation, the slide of silk, the scent of perfume and smoke. The lingering tension from my earlier work begins to fade, replaced by a new, more dangerous feeling.

Curiosity.

I can still feel her attention on me. The sensation is unmistakable.

And for the first time in a long time, I don’t mind being watched. Not by her.