Chapter Two: Control Is a Lie Men Tell Themselves (Two hours earlier)
Dominic POV
I sat in the VIP room with one ankle resting over my knee, posture loose enough to look relaxed, controlled enough to remind everyone watching who owned the space.
My fingers found the gold medallion at my throat, a habit I'd never broken. The metal was warm from my skin, worn smooth from years of absent touches just like this one. My mother's.
The only piece of her I'd kept when everything else burned.
I released it, let it settle back against my chest, and lifted the phone.
"Keep eyes on Henry," I said calmly into the phone. "I don't care where he goes, clubs, hotels, churches. I want updates. Every move."
"Yes, boss."
The call ended. I set the phone down slowly, the familiar weight settling in my chest.
Henry Kane was reckless. Emotional. A liability.
And I didn't leave liabilities unattended.
Vivienne Cross shifted closer beside me, her perfume brushing my senses, faint, expensive, and far too familiar.
First love. First mistake. The only woman I'd ever been foolish enough to return to twice.
Her manicured fingers traced slow, possessive circles against my chest like she still had a claim.
"You're tense," she murmured. "You should relax."
I didn't answer.
My attention drifted past the glass, down to the dance floor. A woman in a small black glossy dress moved through the crowd like she didn't belong to it.
Her movements weren't polished. Not practiced. There was something frantic in the way she swayed, like she was trying to outrun a feeling clawing its way up her spine.
Raw.
Unguarded.
Dangerous.
I looked away.
Vivienne pressed a drink into my hand. "You've barely touched anything tonight."
I took it without thinking. Sipped. Let the burn slide down my throat.
That was when something shifted.
Not dramatically. Just a subtle wrongness as if the edges of the room had sharpened and the music had sunk its claws directly into my skull.
My restraint usually ironclad felt thinner. Slicker. Like it might slip if I tightened my grip too hard.
I went still.
I knew this feeling.
My eyes returned to Vivienne, understanding sliding into place, cold, precise, furious.
"I need air," I said flatly.
She rose immediately. "I'll come... "
"No."
One word. Sharp enough to cut.
"Stay away from me," I added, my voice dropping into something lethal. "You've done enough."
Her eyes widened. Fear flickered beneath the indignation, just long enough to confirm what I already knew. My men were already there, guiding her away.
I didn't watch her leave.
This was containable. I'd been poisoned before, an occupational hazard. The solution was simple: isolate, remove variables, wait it out. The doctor would arrive within twenty minutes.
I just had to hold.
"Get me a doctor," I said. "Discreet. Now. I've been drugged."
"Yes, boss."
I moved toward the exit, each step measured, controlled. The hallway stretched ahead..
escape was twenty feet away. Fifteen. Ten.
And then I saw her.
The woman from the dance floor.
She was unsteady now, pinned in place by three men who stood too close, their hands far too familiar
A fourth held up his phone, recording, his grin wide and ugly.
Something inside me snapped.
I didn't think. I moved.
Fists. Elbows. Force applied with precision and fury. The corridor cleared in seconds. The phone hit the floor and skidded away.
Silence followed, thick, stunned, broken only by ragged breathing.
Up close, she looked worse.
Glassy eyes. Flushed skin. A tremor she couldn't control.
"Hey," I said, keeping my voice low. Steady. "Look at me."
She didn't.
I swore under my breath and lifted her into my arms. She was light. Too light. Her fingers curled weakly into my jacket, heat seeping through the fabric, wrong, invasive, unsettling.
I carried her to the suite and laid her on the bed with deliberate care, pulling the duvet over her trembling body like that might shield her from what was already inside her veins.
Leave. Now.
The thought was clear. Rational.
Necessary.
I turned toward the door.
Her hand shot out, gripping my shirt.
My body went rigid. The drug was working faster now, heat pooling low in my spine, sharpening every sensation. Her touch burned through the fabric like a brand.
"Please," she whispered. "Don't go."
I should have pulled away. I'd handled worse temptations than this.
But something about her desperation, raw and unfiltered, hooked into something I'd thought I'd buried long ago.
The part of me that remembered what it felt like to need someone.
"You don't know what you're asking," I said, my voice rougher than intended.
She pulled me closer.
Our mouths collided, clumsy, urgent, unpracticed. Liquor. Panic. Need.
Her kiss wasn't skilled; it was survival, driven by an ache she didn't understand and couldn't escape.
I broke away, breathing hard. "Have you done this before?"
Her glassy eyes held mine. She swallowed. Licked her lips.
"I'm… a virgin."
The word hit me like cold water.
Of course she was.
The hesitation. The uncertainty. The way she'd looked at the drink like it didn't belong to her world.
Everything about her had been telling me that.
"We're both .....," I paused. "We'll both regret this." I said quietly
"I don't care," she whispered.
But I did.
"Stop," I said, my voice strained. "You don't know what you're asking for."
She didn't pull away.
Her grip tightened. Tugged me closer. Her body arched instinctively, heat pressing through the thin fabric of her dress.
I could leave. I'd walked away from harder things than this — burning buildings, loaded guns, men twice her size. I'd built an empire on the foundation of never wanting anything badly enough to lose control over it.
But she was shaking. And somehow that was the thing that undid me.
Not the heat. Not the need. Just the trembling.
I exhaled through clenched teeth.
This was a mistake. I was compromised. She was vulnerable. Power, imbalance, and bad timing .
I lifted her again and carried her into the en-suite, turning the shower on full, ice-cold.
She gasped as the water hit her, shuddering, but she didn't step back. The dress clung to her curves, soaked through, nearly transparent.
"Get back to your senses," I growled.
I knew it wouldn't work.
I knew I was stalling.
I knew I'd crossed the line the moment I brought her here.
Her eyes met mine, glassy, unfocused, but intent.
"Please," she whispered. "Help me."
I shut the water off.
Carried her back to the bed, water dripping from her body onto mine. Set her on the edge. She pulled me down with surprising strength, arms looping around my neck.
This time, I didn't resist.
The kiss deepened, hungrier, messier. One hand tangled in her wet hair, the other gripping her waist like I was anchoring myself. She moaned softly, the sound vibrating straight through what remained of my control.
I dragged the zipper at her back down, peeling the dress from her shoulders. It slid to the floor, leaving black lace clinging to her hips, darkened by water.
Too beautiful.
Too vulnerable.
I eased her back onto the bed, forcing myself to slow even as everything in me strained forward.
My mouth traced her neck, her collarbone, lingered where her breath caught. Her hands explored me with tentative curiosity, unsure, searching and somehow that made it worse.
I pinned her wrists briefly, grounding us both.
"Look at me," I said, my voice gravel. "Are you sure?"
Her hazy eyes held mine. She swallowed.
"Yes."
I froze.
"You will regret this."
"I won't."
I rested my forehead against hers, both of us breathing hard.
This was the point of no return.
"Neither do I," I paused "This is wrong," I said quietly. "And I'm going to do it anyway.
Tomorrow I'd hate myself. Tomorrow she might hate me more.
But tonight, in this room, we were both burning and I stopped pretending I was strong enough to walk away.
I kissed her like I could memorize her .
I pressed another soft kiss to her forehead, an apology, a promise, a surrender, then reached up and switched off the lamp.
Darkness swallowed the room. City light traced her form beneath me in silver and shadow. Her breath came fast, uneven. Her hands clung like instinct had taken over where thought had failed.
I settled between her thighs and finally.... finally, I stopped fighting.
--
Hours later, when the drugs had burned through our systems and left only exhaustion behind,
I lay awake in the dark. Her breathing had evened out. Soft. Trusting.
I should have felt nothing.
Instead, I reached for the chain at my neck, the one constant I'd carried since childhood.
My fingers found only skin.
The medallion isn't there..
I turned my head slowly, studying her profile in the dim light.
She looked peaceful. Innocent, even.
Once the sun is up in the morning, I'd find out who she was.