The night sky was painted with stars, but none shone as brightly as the fire in Charles' veins.
The nightclub's private suite had become their battlefield—dim lights casting long shadows across silk cushions, and a haze of expensive perfume mixing with the electric tension that crackled between them. The bass from the club below thrummed through the floor like a heartbeat, matching the pulse that hammered in Charles' temples.
Liora moved with predatory grace, her emerald dress catching the light as she approached. Her kiss was searing, desperate, full of something that felt like longing but tasted like lies. Charles found himself drawn in despite every instinct screaming warnings, his hands finding her waist as she pressed against him with dangerous intensity.
"You're not supposed to be here," Charles muttered, his voice rough with conflicted desire. "Not after what happened last night."
