"You need to leave. Now."
Rebekah's voice was sharp, urgent, as she grabbed Veronique's wrist the moment she stepped into the dressing room. The other girls, still busy fixing their makeup or slipping into silk robes, barely paid them any attention, but Veronique felt the tension radiating off her friend in waves.
She arched a brow, tugging her hand free. "Rebekah, what—?"
"He's here."
Those two words sent an ice-cold ripple down Veronique's spine.
For a moment, she said nothing, just staring into Rebekah's dark eyes, searching for some indication that this was a mistake. A trick of the light. A figment of paranoia. But no, Rebekah was deadly serious, her fingers twitching at her sides.
"Who?" Veronique asked, though she already knew the answer.
Rebekah didn't blink. "Lucien Wolfe."
Veronique inhaled sharply, her mind spiraling through the years, through the blood-soaked past she had hoped would stay buried. Lucien. The name tasted of danger, of wild nights and reckless hunger. Of passion and blood spilled over moonlit forests.
Of bodies torn apart when they defied her.
She forced a slow exhale, shaking off the weight of it. "Are you sure?"
Rebekah rolled her eyes. "I saw him with my own damn eyes. Do you think I'd mistake him?"
No, Veronique thought grimly. No one could mistake Lucien Wolfe.
He was a nightmare wrapped in the body of a man—a predator in human skin. His presence alone could turn the air electric, the space around him charged with something both intoxicating and terrifying. And if he was here, if he had found her, then it wasn't by accident.
He was here for her.
She let out a slow, calculated breath. "Where is he?"
Rebekah crossed her arms, shaking her head. "He was in the private section, watching. Didn't do anything, didn't say anything. Just stared."
Veronique's nails dug into her palm. "And now?"
"Gone. But not far, I'm sure."
For a moment, the room around them blurred. The chatter of the other girls, the scent of perfume and sweat, the lingering heat of the performance—it all faded beneath the weight of Lucien's return.
Rebekah's voice softened. "What are you going to do?"
Veronique swallowed the bitterness rising in her throat. "I don't run. At least, not yet."
Rebekah let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, I know you don't. But you need a plan. Because I don't think he's here to rekindle old flames."
Veronique forced a smirk, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Pity. It was such a good flame."
Rebekah shot her a look, but Veronique was already turning away, reaching for her robe. Lucien Wolfe was here. And that could mean only one thing.
Her past had finally caught up with her.
———
Damian Valko leaned back in his leather seat, fingers absently rolling the crystal glass between them. The liquor inside remained untouched.
For the first time in years, he found himself distracted.
It wasn't the market, the rise and fall of stocks, the ruthless nature of business. No, his thoughts were consumed by something far less practical. Far more dangerous.
Veronique.
The way her body had moved, the way her voice had wrapped around him like a silken noose, tightening with every syllable. The way her golden eyes had burned into him as if she saw something deeper, something no one else had ever bothered to look for.
He had gone there expecting a distraction. A temporary indulgence.
Instead, he had found something else.
Something that refused to leave his mind, even now, in the silence of his own home.
He exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face.
This was ridiculous.
He had spent years building his empire, shaping himself into a man who controlled his desires rather than letting them control him. And yet, one night with her, and he was unraveling.
His phone buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts.
Caroline.
His stomach twisted with something between guilt and frustration.
Six years of marriage, reduced to a name flashing on a screen.
He considered ignoring it. Letting it go unanswered, just as she had ignored him when he showed up at her door earlier that evening, begging for another chance. But something in him, some misplaced sense of duty made him press the button.
"Caroline."
There was silence on the other end for a beat too long before she finally spoke.
"Are you drunk?"
The question made him laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Not tonight."
Another pause. Then, softer, "I saw your messages."
He closed his eyes. "And?"
"And nothing's changed, Damian. I—" She hesitated, her voice laced with exhaustion. "You can't undo what you did."
His jaw clenched. "I know."
"I don't think you do," she sighed. "You're just… chasing things, like always."
His grip tightened around the glass. "That's not fair."
Caroline let out a small, humorless chuckle. "Isn't it? We both know how this ends."
Damian's chest ached in a way he hadn't prepared for. He knew she was right. Knew that no matter how many times he told himself he had changed, that he was better now, it wouldn't erase what he had done.
What he hadn't been for her.
"I have to go," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Caroline—"
"Goodnight, Damian."
The line went dead.
Damian exhaled slowly, staring at the empty screen.
For a moment, he considered pouring himself a drink.
Instead, he reached for his keys.
There was only one thing in his mind now.
Veronique.
————
Veronique wasn't expecting the knock.
It was late, the club had long since emptied, and most of the girls had already left for the night. Only a few stragglers remained, laughing and chatting in the dressing room as they wiped away their stage makeup.
She had been lost in thought, her mind circling back to Lucien, trying to decide her next move.
And then, the knock.
A hesitant one. Measured.
She opened the door, and there he was.
Damian Valko.
His dark eyes met hers, searching, uncertain.
"What are you still doing here. Thought you had gone." she murmured, a slow smile tugging at her lips.
His throat bobbed. "I shouldn't have."
She tilted her head. "But you didn't?"
Damian exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know what the hell it is about you, Veronique, but I can't—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "I can't stop thinking about you."
Veronique studied him, something unreadable flickering in her golden eyes.
The high voltage of connection was quite evident and neither of them moved from where they were.
Damien was obviously feeling something. It was neither lust, nor love but something close to fear. Part of him wanted to run for the hills but he's not that kind of man.
Definitely not him.
But of the way his words made her— Veronique feel.
Because she couldn't stop thinking about him either.
And that was a problem.
A very big problem.