Chapter 3

AVERY – 

I can still feel her eyes on me.

Even though she turned away. Even though Eli is talking again – something about ordering a drink with a name that sounds like it belongs on a horror movie poster. “Corpse Whisper.” “Dead Velvet.” I nod like I’m listening, but my head’s somewhere else entirely.

Because I can’t stop thinking about her.

That woman. That suit. That stillness.

The way she looked at me – no, through me – made the rest of the club disappear for a second. Like I’d been dropped into the center of the room, stripped bare, and she was the only one who could see the truth of me.

My stomach flutters. Not from fear exactly. Not quite attraction either, though if I’m being honest, something low in my body responded to her that made me clench my thighs for a second. But it’s more raw than that. Something closer to recognition, the uneasy kind that makes you wonder where you’ve seen someone before even when you know you haven’t.

Eli waves down a bartender and slides into easy conversation, already leaning in with that grin that makes strangers forget their own names. I take the chance to step away – just a little. I need space. The air near the bar is too warm, the noise too tight.

I end up near the back of the club, by a mirrored wall and a low railing that overlooks one of the side lounges. From here, the view shifts. I can see the balconies above, the velvet curtains, the movement of silhouettes in soft shadow.

And then –

I feel her before I see her.

It’s like the air changes – slows down, thickens, takes on a charge. I turn, and there she is.

Walking toward me.

Every step is precise, efficient, without the sway or show that everyone else here seems to practice. She doesn’t move like she’s trying to be seen. She moves like she owns the space and always has.

She’s taller than I expected, taller than me – not so much that I have to look up, but enough to make me straighten without thinking.

She stops a few feet away, her hands loose at her sides, her head tilted slightly as she studies me.

Up close, she’s even more beautiful. Which feels unfair. Her features are sharp, all deliberate lines, her dark eyes impossible to read. There’s something ageless about her, like she could have stepped out of a different decade and still looked exactly the same.

My throat is dry. I have no idea what to say.

Her gaze travels downward, slowly, taking in my practical boots, my faded jeans, my simple button-down shirt. Then it climbs, just as deliberately, back to my face. It isn’t a hungry look or a playful one. It is an evaluation. A calculation.

“Lost?” she asks.

Her voice is low and warm, but there’s a precision to it – like she’s shaping each word for a reason. It sinks into me, the kind of sound you don’t just hear, you feel in your chest.

“Just… looking around,” I manage, my voice weaker than I intended.

A faint smile curves her lips. “You see what you came to see?”

I hesitate. I could lie. Tell her yes. But the truth is, nothing in this club felt significant until she appeared.

“I don’t know,” I say finally.

Her smile doesn’t change, but something in her eyes shifts. A glint of approval. A spark of genuine curiosity.

She steps forward, closing the distance between us by half. The space around us seems to shrink. I can feel the warmth coming from her, smell the clean, sharp scent of her perfume – sandalwood and crisp linen. She holds out a glass filled with an amber liquid. I take it automatically, my fingers brushing against hers. The contact is brief, but it sends a jolt up my body.

“Happy birthday,” she says, her voice soft, yet it carries absolute authority.

My heart jumps. “How did you–”

She gives a slight nod toward the bar. “Your friend told the bartender. The bartender told me.”

I stare, confused. “Why would they tell you?”

Her head tips just slightly, her voice low, “People tend to tell me things.”

She holds my gaze, her own unwavering and intense. The eye contact is so direct it’s almost confrontational. “What’s your name?” I ask before I can stop myself.

Her lips part slightly. “Victoria.”

Victoria.

The name echoes in my head.

It fits her. Sharp. Elegant. A name that doesn’t just walk into a room – it takes it.

I should offer mine. It’s the polite thing to do. But something holds me back.

“I hope,” she says, her voice silk over steel, “this night gives you exactly what you didn’t know you wanted – Avery.“

Hearing my own name in her mouth makes my fingers tighten around my glass. My stomach knots. Either Eli’s been busier talking than I thought, or she collects names the way other people collect rare, precious things – intentionally, and only when they’re worth the effort.

Before I can form a single word in response, she turns. The movement is fluid and final. In three silent steps, she is gone.

I stand there, the echo of her voice looping in my head, my pulse loud in my ears.

What the fuck just happened?

***

VICTORIA –

When I glance back from the upper level, where I’ve returned to the shadows, she hasn’t looked away. That was the first thing I noticed. Most people break eye contact. They get nervous, they laugh, they find an excuse to turn. But not her. She’s still at the railing, her hands holding on tight, her gaze steady. She looks anchored.

I liked that. More than I expected to.

I hadn’t intended to approach her tonight. But I was curious, and I’ve learned to trust my instincts.

There’s something different about her. It’s not just that she seems soft or unsure. There’s potential there. Room for something else to grow. She doesn’t seem to know her own capacity for change. But I can sense it.

I swirl the last of my drink, my gaze fixed on her through the thin veil of the curtain. She hasn’t gone back to her friend. She hasn’t stopped glancing in my direction.

Good.

Curiosity is the first crack.

I tap my fingers once against the table, and Nico – one of my floor captains – appears without a sound.

“Get her another drink,” I say.

His eyes follow mine. “The woman in the flannel?”

“Yes. Nothing too strong. Something smooth. Subtle.”

He nods and disappears again, efficient and discreet – the way I like my staff.

I lean back in my chair, crossing my legs, my hand resting on the armrest. I continue watching her. I’m assessing the situation, turning it over in my mind. I feel the beginning of something I can’t quite define yet.

This isn’t an obsession. It’s not purely physical attraction, either. It’s a slower, more deliberate pull.

I don’t allow people to get close. They see only what I want them to see. Letting someone in is a vulnerability, and vulnerability is a weakness.

But she made me pause. She made me approach. And that’s rare.

I don’t know what she’s looking for yet. But I will find out.

Not because I need to.

Because I want to.

And I always get what I want.