Scarlett "Red" Valenti's POV
The city pulses below my penthouse, a glittering beast that never sleeps, but it's Julian Knight's text that keeps me awake: Specs sent. You played dirty tonight, Scarlett. My turn next. The words burn through me, his voice echoing in my mind, low and dangerous, like a promise I shouldn't crave.
I'm sprawled on my velvet chaise, still in my crimson dress, its fabric clinging to my curves like a second skin. My fingers trace the hem, remembering how his eyes devoured me,my breasts, my hips, the way I moved to unravel him.
I won tonight, left him grasping for control, but the victory feels hollow when my body's still humming with the heat he stirred.
I toss my phone onto the coffee table, the screen glowing with his message. My turn next. Arrogant bastard. He thinks he can outplay me, but I'm Scarlett Valenti I don't just hold the upper hand; I own the whole damn game. Still, my pulse races, betraying me. The memory of his fingers grazing my hip at the waterfront, his breath hot against my ear, makes my skin tingle. I hate how much I want to see what happens when he pushes back.
My laptop's open, the waterfront project files a reminder of what's at stake. Julian's tech specs are in my inbox, as promised, but I'm not ready to dive in. Not when Ethan's warning from last night "Don't trust him blindly, Red" collides with those anonymous texts about Singapore. Knight's secrets will burn you.
I grab my wine glass, the Pinot Noir sharp on my tongue, and pull up Lila's latest email. Her update is sparse: Still chasing Singapore leads. Offshore accounts linked to KnightTech, but no hard proof yet. Source says Julian's name is on key documents. Be careful.
Careful. The word feels like a cage. I've built my empire by taking risks, not playing it safe, but this—this is different. If Julian's hiding something, it could torch the waterfront deal and drag Valenti Properties down with it. My legacy, everything I've bled for, gone. But it's not just the deal. It's him. The way he makes my blood sing, the way I want to push him until he breaks, or I do.
I stand, pacing to the window, my dress shimmering in the dim light. The city's a battlefield, and I'm armed—sharp tongue, sharper mind, and a body I know how to wield. Tonight, I'll meet Julian at a rooftop bar for a "casual" project discussion, his idea, probably another move in this game we're playing.
I choose my armor carefully: a black silk dress, low-cut, hugging my curves tighter than the last, with a slit up the thigh that screams trouble. I let my hair fall in loose waves, my lips painted scarlet, and slip into stilettos that could kill. If he wants to play, I'll make sure he's the one begging.
The bar's a sleek oasis atop a Midtown skyscraper, all glass and neon, the kind of place where deals and desires collide. Julian's already there, leaning against the bar, his navy suit tailored to perfection, his dark hair catching the glow of the city. His gray eyes lock onto me as I approach, and I feel it—that slow, hungry sweep over my body, lingering on the plunge of my neckline, the curve of my hips, the flash of thigh through the slit. His jaw tightens, and I know I've got him, just like last night.
"Scarlett," he says, his voice low, rough, like he's swallowing something he doesn't want to admit. "You don't play fair."
I smirk, sliding onto the stool beside him, letting my leg brush his just enough to make him tense. "Fair's for losers, Julian," I say, my voice a sultry challenge, leaning in so my breasts press against the silk, drawing his gaze. "You wanted to talk business. So talk."
He clears his throat, his eyes flicking back to mine, but the heat's there, undeniable. "The tech specs," he starts, his tone steady but strained. "They'll cut costs by fifteen percent. Your towers need them."
I tilt my head, letting my hair spill over one shoulder, knowing it drives him wild. "My towers don't need anything," I say, my voice low, teasing. "But I'm curious, Knight. What's in it for me if I let you play hero?"
His smile is slow, dangerous, and he leans closer, his breath warm against my cheek. "You get me, Scarlett. All in."
My pulse spikes, and I hate how my body responds, a warm ache pooling low. I lean back, crossing my legs, the slit revealing more thigh, and his eyes follow like he's starving. "Tempting," I say, my voice a purr. "But I don't trust a man who thinks he's got all the cards."
His eyes darken, and for a moment, I think he'll push back, close the distance, make good on that promise. But he doesn't.
"You'll see my hand soon enough," he says, his voice a growl that sends a shiver through me. "But don't think you're the only one playing dirty."
I laugh, sharp and bright, sipping my martini, letting the glass linger at my lips. He's rattled, and I'm in control, my curves a weapon he can't resist. But as we talk numbers, timelines, designs the Singapore shadow looms. I need answers, and I need them before this heat between us burns me alive. Because Scarlett Valenti doesn't just play to win she plays to survive, and Julian Knight's about to learn the difference.