I hated clubs.
I hated the smell of alcohol that clung to every breath, the pounding music that drilled through my skull, and the kind f desperate conversations people tried to have over the chaos. So when I found myself at Crimson 9, dressed in a tight, uncomfortable dress and heels I could barely walk in, I blamed two things: My Boss, and My peer pressure.
"This is a team celebration!" My manager, Rita, had shrieked like she was announcing we won the Nobel Prize. "Come on, you have to come. No excuses. You're part of the creative department now — act like it!"
And so here I was. In a club. Sweating. Sober. And bored out of my mind.
"Smile a little," Nadia said, elbowing me lightly in the ribs as she passed me a glass. "You're not gonna survive the night looking like someone stole your last Redbull."
I forced a grin and took the drink. I didn't even ask what it was — I just downed it. Maybe the alcohol would kick in and knock out the regret.
The place was... beautiful, though. Expensive. With Crimson velvet walls and cascading lights that made the entire space feel like a luxurious fever dream. There was a VIP section above, draped with glass railings and private booths, and I could feel the heat of too many stares from that direction.
My coworkers were already half-drunk and screaming along to some remix. I laughed with them when I had to, even danced for five seconds before I slipped back to the bar, where I could just breathe.
That's when I saw him.
HHewasn't dancing. He wasn't even pretending to blend in. He sat alone in a booth above, half-shadowed, watching the club like he owned it. No drink in hand. Just... eyes. Cold, distant, terrifyingly calm eyes.
I don't know how long we stared.
I should've looked away first.
I didn't.
He moved — stood up. I flinched, like I'd done something wrong. But he wasn't looking at me anymore.
The guy disappeared.
I blinked. What the hell was that? Who just stared at a stranger like that and left?
Then I turned back to my drink — and almost screamed.
He was there. Standing next to me. No sound. No warning. Right there.
"You looked like you wanted out." His voice was low, controlled, and almost amused. "So why are you still here?"
I froze. "Excuse me?"
"You hate it," he said simply. "You've been pretending to laugh with your coworkers, you haven't danced longer than ten seconds, and you've been nursing a drink that isn't even yours. But you're still here. Why?"
He had no right to sound that calm. That observant. That smug.
"I'm here for work," I said defensively. It's a team event."
"That's not a reason," he said. "That's an excuse."
My pride bristled. "I don't owe you an explanation."
"You don't," he agreed. "But I like hearing people lie to themselves. It's entertaining."
I turned toward him fully now, ready to fire back something clever now. But I paused. Because up close — God. He was gorgeous in the way a storm is gorgeous. Dangerous. Untouchable. Wrong.
Sharp cheekbones, clean jawline, dark eyes that looked like they'd seen too much and forgotten most of it on purpose. He wore a black suit, slightly undone like he didn't need to try to be elegant. And his presence? Loud. Like the air around him bent to make space.
"What do you do?" I asked, instantly regretting it.
He smirked. "That's a big question."
"I'm not asking for your sins," I snapped. "Just your job."
"I own this place."
I stared. "You're lying."
He didn't blink. "Try me."
I almost laughed. Then my breath caught in my throat as I remembered the way the staff looked at him when he passed. The way everyone had looked at him.
"You actually—?
"Lucien Vale," he said, extending a hand.
"Owner of Crimson 9. Among other things."
I didn't take the hand. I crossed my arms instead, hugging myself. "Okay. So you own it. What now? Do you flirt with all your patrons like this?"
"Only the interesting ones."
I rolled my eyes. "And I'm just so interesting."
He leaned in slightly, voice dropping just low enough for me to feel it in my stomach. "You are. You act like you hate being seen, but every part of you is begging for someone to look. That's not boring. That's... complicated."
I laughed, too loudly. "You're insane."
"You've been told that before," he replied smoothly. "So have I."
There was a silence. An unbreakable kind. The music blurred into white noise, and suddenly it didn't feel like I was in a club anymore. It felt like I'd stepped into something else entirely.
"Why are you really here?" He asked again, but this time it sounded gentler. Like he wasn't trying to catch me — just curious.
I looked down. "I got promoted," I admitted quietly. "The team's celebrating. I didn't want to come, but... it felt rude not to."
He studied me for a moment.
"Congratulations," he said.
My brows lifted. "That's... unexpectedly normal of you."
"I'm not always claws and teeth," he murmured. "But most people only notice those parts."
Why are you saying this to me? I wanted to ask. But I already knew. He wasn't talking to me like I was anyone special — he was talking to me like I might be, and he was deciding if it was worth the risk.
And I — like an idiot — wasn't walking away.
"You shouldn't be here," he said softly.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"This club. Your team. This job. You don't belong in places that don't respect the chaos in you."
I stared at him. And I hated that I didn't immediately disagree. Because for a second, I felt seen in the worst way.
"I'm not chaotic," I whispered.
"You're in denial," he countered, and then his smirk returned. "It's okay. I like denial. I profit off it."
I should have walked away. I should have rejoined my coworkers and buried myself in safe small talk.
But I didn't.
Instead, I said, "So what do you really do, Lucien Vale? Owning a club seems too...normal."
And this time, he laughed. Quietly. Darkly.
"I don't think you want to know," he said, sipping from the drink that magically appeared in his hand. "But let's just say...I deal with difficult problems. The kind most people are too scared to touch."
My stomach twisted. "You mean like a fixer?"
"I mean like a cleaner," he said, locking eyes with me again. "For the rich. The powerful. The ones who can't afford a stain."
God, what? My skin prickled.
"You kill people?"
He tilted his head. "You ask questions you're not ready the hear the answers to."
I felt like I couldn't breathe. "Are you messing with me?"
"Do you want me to be?" He asked softly.
I didn't know.
I didn't know anything.
Except that I was scared.
I was intrigued.
Something was very, very wrong with me.
"You're dangerous," I whispered.
Lucien stepped close, and now there was only a whisper of air between us. "And you're bored of safe."
I hated how right he was.
I hated that I let him see it.
"Walk away," he said gently. "If you don't want to get involved."
I didn't move.
"Still here," he said, voice darkening.
"Interesting."
He stepped back. Slowly. Giving me the space to breathe. My heart was pounding like I'd just jumped off a rooftop.
"Enjoy your night," Lucien said, already disappearing into the crowd. "And congratulations again."
I turned to call after him — but he was gone. Not just vanished into the crowd — gone like smoke.
I didn't know what it was.
I didn't know why it felt like the floor had shifted under me.
All I knew was one thing.
I'd never see the world the same again.