Two days passed before I heard from him again.
A black envelope slid under my apartment door. No return address, no markings except for my name written in neat, confident strokes. Inside was a single card.
Tomorrow. 8 p.m. The Vesper Club. Wear red.
No signature. He didn't need one.
The Vesper Club wasn't just any place—it was the place. Exclusive, hidden, and notorious for hosting some of the most powerful people in the city. The kind of place where reputations were built or destroyed in a single evening.
When I arrived, the doorman checked a list, then opened the doors without a word.
The inside was opulent—crimson velvet, gold accents, the soft hum of jazz in the background. I spotted Damien instantly. He was at the center of a private table, flanked by two men whose faces I recognized from my past life—both sharks in expensive suits.
He stood as I approached, his eyes scanning me from head to toe."You followed instructions," he said simply, pulling out a chair.
I sat. "You wanted to see if I could."
"No," he corrected, leaning closer. "I wanted to see if you'd obey. There's a difference."
He poured two glasses of wine, but didn't drink his. "Tonight, you're going to speak to a man named Victor Hale. He's sitting at the bar. You'll convince him to walk away from his deal with the Blackwells and come to me instead. No lies about who you are. No promises you can't keep. Just… persuasion."
"And if I refuse?" I asked.
His smirk was slow, deliberate. "Then you've already lost."
I glanced toward the bar. Victor Hale—mid-50s, sharp features, eyes like a hawk. A man who, in my last life, had been untouchable until the Blackwells destroyed him.
I sipped my wine, set the glass down, and stood. "Watch me."
As I walked toward the bar, I could feel Damien's gaze on my back. He was testing me—measuring whether I was an asset or just another liability.
I planned to make sure he never doubted which one I was.