Chapter One
The elevator in Virelli Global always flickered on the thirteenth floor.
Aria Morgan hated that.
She told herself it was faulty wiring. Old infrastructure. Corporate buildings were dramatic like that. They liked to pretend they were haunted.
But tonight felt different.
The building had emptied hours ago. The cleaning crew had finished. The hum of voices, printers, footsteps — gone.
Only silence remained.
And the elevator.
Aria pressed the button for the lobby.
The doors slid shut with a metallic sigh.
The lights dimmed.
The digital panel glitched.
The flicker.
Her fingers tightened around the file pressed to her chest.
"Not tonight," she whispered to no one.
The elevator jerked.
Her stomach dropped.
She hadn't pressed those numbers.
The panel blinked erratically.
13… 22… 7… 66.
Her breath caught.
There was no sixty-sixth floor.
Virelli Global had sixty floors.
Everyone knew that.
The elevator stopped.
A soft ding echoed in the confined space.
The doors slid open.
Darkness waited.
Not the normal dim lighting of an unused floor.
Darkness that felt thick.
Alive.
Cold air spilled inside.
Aria didn't move.
Her reflection stared back at her in the metal wall behind — pale face, dark eyes, tension in her jaw.
"Close," she whispered.
The doors did not respond.
The darkness beyond seemed to breathe.
And then—
A voice.
"Miss Morgan."
Low.
Smooth.
Controlled.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She stepped out before she could think.
The floor was wrong.
No corporate carpeting. No glass offices. No reception desks.
Instead, the corridor stretched endlessly, lined with black marble that swallowed light.
At the end of it—
Him.
Lucien Virelli.
Her CEO.
He stood in a perfectly tailored black suit, hands clasped behind his back, posture immaculate.
As if he had been waiting.
"Sir—" Her voice felt small in the vast emptiness. "I didn't mean to come up here. The elevator—"
"I know," he interrupted gently.
His eyes gleamed.
Not brown.
Not quite red.
Something deeper.
Something that shifted.
"You seem to find yourself in interesting places, Miss Morgan."
Aria swallowed.
There was something different about him tonight.
He always carried an intimidating presence — the kind that silenced boardrooms and made billionaires stutter.
But this—
This felt predatory.
"I was leaving," she said carefully.
His gaze traveled over her slowly. Not vulgar. Not rushed.
Measured.
Possessive.
"You shouldn't wander alone after hours," he murmured.
"I wasn't wandering."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"You are now."
The air between them tightened.
She became painfully aware of the distance separating them.
And how quickly he could close it.
A faint sound echoed behind her.
Like something dragging across stone.
She turned sharply.
The corridor behind her was no longer empty.
Shadows clung to the walls.
They moved.
Breathing.
Watching.
Her pulse spiked.
"Sir—" she started.
Lucien moved.
In a blink, he was in front of her.
Too fast.
No footsteps.
No transition.
Just suddenly there.
Her back hit something solid — but the corridor behind her had been empty seconds ago.
Now it felt like a wall of cold stone.
His hand lifted.
He did not touch her.
But his fingers hovered near her cheek.
The shadows stilled.
"They don't like you," he said softly.
"Who?"
"My employees."
A tremor ran through her.
"They aren't employees," she whispered.
His smile deepened.
"Very observant."
His hand finally brushed her skin.
Cold.
Not freezing.
But not human warmth either.
Every nerve in her body ignited.
Not fear.
Recognition.
And that terrified her more than anything.
"You shouldn't be afraid," he said.
"I'm not."
A lie.
He leaned closer.
Close enough that she could see faint red veins flicker beneath his irises.
"You are."
His thumb traced her jaw.
A possessive gesture.
"You've always been brave."
Her breath hitched.
"Always?"
Something flickered across his expression.
Something ancient.
Before he could answer—
A sharp clap echoed through the corridor.
Slow.
Mocking.
"Well," a new voice drawled. "This is intimate."
The shadows recoiled.
Lucien's body went still.
Dangerously still.
Another man stepped into view from the darkness.
Tall.
Silver hair falling lazily over sharp cheekbones.
Eyes like molten gold.
He wore a white suit — immaculate, almost glowing against the black marble.
"Lucien," he greeted pleasantly. "Still collecting what doesn't belong to you?"
Aria's heart pounded.
She looked between them.
The air felt volatile.
Like the moment before a storm breaks.
Lucien did not turn.
"Leave," he said quietly.
The newcomer's gaze landed on Aria.
Heat flared in those golden eyes.
Curiosity.
Interest.
Possession.
"Well, well," he murmured. "So the seal finally grew a heartbeat."
Aria's chest tightened.
"What is he talking about?" she demanded.
The silver-haired man stepped closer.
The darkness seemed afraid of him too.
"You don't know?" he asked softly.
Lucien's hand wrapped around her waist suddenly.
Firm.
Claiming.
"She doesn't need to," Lucien said.
The other man laughed lightly.
"That's unlike you. Secrets?" He tilted his head. "I'm impressed."
Aria struggled against Lucien's grip.
"Let me go."
He did not.
Instead, his hold tightened.
"You shouldn't touch her," the silver-haired man warned gently.
"And you shouldn't exist," Lucien replied.
The air cracked.
Literally.
The marble floor split beneath the newcomer's feet.
Black smoke rose from the fractures.
The silver-haired man smiled wider.
"You're weaker than you were," he observed. "Being near her must be… complicated."
Lucien's eyes flared.
Red.
Fully red now.
Aria gasped.
The world around them began to distort.
The corridor warped.
The ceiling stretched higher, revealing something above—
A throne.
Massive.
Carved from bone and obsidian.
Her head throbbed.
Images flooded her mind.
Fire.
Blood.
A crown.
A man kneeling before her.
Not Lucien.
The silver-haired one.
Her knees buckled.
Lucien caught her instantly.
"Enough," he snarled.
The vision snapped.
The corridor returned.
The marble repaired itself.
The silver-haired man straightened his cuffs.
"I'll take that as my cue."
His gaze locked with Aria's one last time.
"You'll dream tonight," he said softly. "And when you do… remember my name."
He smiled.
"Kael."
And then he vanished.
Silence crashed down.
Aria's breathing was uneven.
Her hands trembled.
"What… is happening?" she whispered.
Lucien looked down at her.
His expression was no longer cold.
It was furious.
Not at her.
At something far older.
"He should not have approached you."
"Who is he?"
"Trouble."
"That doesn't answer—"
"You are not safe around him."
She laughed shakily.
"And I am safe around you?"
The question hung between them.
His grip on her waist softened.
For a split second, something vulnerable flickered in his eyes.
"You are safest with me," he said quietly.
Her heart betrayed her.
It reacted to the certainty in his voice.
The possessiveness.
The promise.
He lifted his hand.
The corridor trembled.
The darkness folded inward.
The elevator doors appeared behind them.
As if reality corrected itself.
"You will go home," he said.
"And you?"
"I have unfinished business."
She hesitated.
"Kael said I don't belong to you."
His jaw tightened.
"You belong to no one."
A beat.
"Except by your own choice."
The elevator doors slid open.
Normal interior.
Soft lighting.
As if nothing had happened.
She stepped inside slowly.
Just before the doors closed, she asked—
"What am I?"
Lucien's gaze burned into hers.
"Mine."
The doors shut.
The elevator descended.
And for the first time in her life—
Aria felt something inside her wake up.
Not fear.
Not confusion.
Something darker.
Something ancient.
In the shadows of the sixty-sixth floor, Lucien stood alone.
His eyes returned to black.
The seal had weakened tonight.
Kael's presence proved it.
He flexed his hand.
Flames flickered briefly along his fingertips before extinguishing.
"Soon," he murmured.
Far below, in the city lights of Lagos, thunder rolled across a clear sky.
And in her apartment miles away—
Aria dreamed.
Of a throne.
Of fire.
Of a silver-haired man kneeling.
And of Lucien standing behind her—
Not as her master.
But as something far more dangerous.
Her equal.
The game had begun.
And this time—
The devil was not the only one who intended to claim her.