She could still smell Darius on her skin.
Selene stood at her penthouse's window, wearing only a silk robe, which did nothing to put out the fire that was still shimmering underneath. Her pulse hadn't slowed since he walked out without another word. She should've called it control—but it felt more like a surrender.
And God, she hated how much she liked it.
She turned away from the glass and walked toward the bar, pouring herself two fingers of whiskey, neat. Her hand was steady, but the rest of her? Not so much.
She took a sip. Let it burn.
Her phone vibrated on the counter.
She ignored it.
When it vibrated again—twice this time—she flipped it over. Rocco. One of her lieutenants. Not someone who called twice unless it was serious.
She answered with a clipped, "Talk."
"Problem at Eden," he said. "Someone came sniffing around the back rooms. Said he wanted to talk to the boss."
Selene's eyes narrowed.
"Name?"
"Didn't give one. But he had muscle. And he wasn't just there for the dancers."
She set the glass down.
"I'll handle it," she said. "Keep him there."
Rocco hesitated. "He's got that look. The kind of man who doesn't wait long."
"I'm not the kind of woman who gets rushed."
She hung up.
Fifteen minutes later, she stepped into Eden, her heels striking hard against the polished floor. The music inside pulsed low, sensual. Men danced under crimson lights, but the staff's tension said everything—something was wrong.
Rocco met her near the back.
"He's in the VIP booth," he muttered. "Didn't touch the girls. Just sat there. Watching. Like he already owned the place."
Selene's lips curved, but it wasn't a smile.
She entered the private hallway and opened the booth door.
It wasn't Darius.
She wasn't sure if she was disappointed or relieved.
The man sitting there wore a three-piece suit like armor. He had cold eyes. Scar along his jaw. Hands too still for comfort.
He looked up. And smiled like he knew her.
"Selene Vale," he said smoothly. "Or should I say….. Boss Lady?"
She said nothing. Just closed the door behind her.
"Get to the point," she said.
"Word is," the man began, "your club's more than pretty lights and hard abs."
She arched her brow.
He leaned forward.
"And I want in."
She tilted her head. "You got a name?"
"Lucien." He smiled again. "I used to run supply routes for Alvero."
That name made her pause—but only for a second.
"He's dead," she said.
Lucien's smile widened. "Exactly."
"Are you looking to fill his shoes?"
"No," he said. "I'm looking to work with someone who already has."
Selene studied him. Calm. Calculating. Dangerous in a way that didn't scream like Darius's heat, but whispered of knives in the dark.
He wasn't here for a partnership. He was here to test her.
And she didn't like games, she didn't design herself.
She walked over, slow. Let her presence speak louder than words.
"You think walking into my place, tossing a dead man's name, earns you a seat?" she asked.
Lucien shrugged. "It earns me a conversation."
Selene stopped inches from his chair.
Then she leaned down so close enough that he could smell her perfume.
"You just had it," she said quietly. "Now leave."
Lucien's jaw tightened—but he stood.
"Fair enough," he said.
But before he stepped past her, he added, "You know, I've heard about you. They say you rule like a queen, but sleep like a soldier—with one eye open."
She didn't flinch.
"They also say the right man could make you blink," he added.
Selene's smile was razor-sharp.
"Keep dreaming."
He left without another word.
She let out a breath as the door clicked shut behind him.
The fact that he had used Alvero's name annoyed her. Or the timing.
Darius had just stepped into her world, and suddenly old enemies were poking their heads up?
Coincidence didn't exist in her world.
Back in the main room, Rocco approached again.
"Will he leave?" he asked.
"For now."
"You want him watched?"
"Like a shadow," she said.
As she turned to leave, a familiar voice stopped her.
"Busy night?"
Her pulse skipped.
Darius stood against the wall with his lips curved as if he already understood Lucien's words, his dark shirt unbuttoned just enough to divert attention.
"I didn't hear you enter," she said. He whispered as he moved into her space, "You were focused." "That guy gives you a problem?"
"Nothing I couldn't finish in three seconds flat."
His eyes searched her face. "You look flushed."
"I'm not."
"You're lying."
She didn't respond.
Darius stepped closer.
His hand touched her hip, warm and grounding.
"You said I was dangerous," he murmured.
She raised her chin. "You are."
"So why do you keep drawing me closer?"
"Because I want to burn," she muttered.
That did it.
His mouth crashed into hers.
Not soft. Not sweet. Just raw possession.
She didn't hold back. She dragged him into the closest private room, slammed the door shut and shoved him against it. With all of their teeth and need, their mouths met once more. He pulled her against him, his hands sliding under her skirt, fingers gripping the tops of her thighs as if he owned her. She moaned into his mouth as he lifted her.
"Not wasting time tonight," he said roughly.
"Good," she exhaled.
He placed her down on the soft seat, knelt between her legs, and shifted her pants aside.
His tongue took the place of his fingers and then she forgot how to breathe.
Her head fell back. Hands gripping the armrest. His mouth moved with sinful precision, sending fire shooting up her spine.
She moaned his name.
He pulled back, licking his lips.
"Still flushed," he said.
She pulled him up, kissed him hard, and switched their positions, putting him beneath her. She climbed onto him, grinding against him through his jeans. He lowered his head, a low moan escaped from his chest. "You make me Insane." He rasped. "Good," She said, smirking and undoing his belt.
"Let's see what insanity tastes like."
Their clothes hit the floor like war drums. Her body sank onto his, slow and sure.
Every inch of him filled her, stretched her, ruined her.
She rode him with purpose, rough, dominant, and hungry for his body.
With equal force, he seized her by her hips and thrust up until both were shaking.
"Selene—" he gasped.
She pressed her forehead to his.
"Don't stop," she muttered. "I need to forget."
He didn't ask what.
He just obeyed.
They crashed together, louder, and harder, until release broke them both into sweat and silence.
She fell against him, her heart pounding in rhythm with his.
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
Then she said quietly, "Someone named Lucien came tonight. Mentioned Alvero."
Darius went still beneath her.
And when he finally spoke, his voice was tight.
"Lucien's not just a supplier," he said. "He used to be Alvero's cleaner."
Selene blinked.
"The guy who cleaned up his messes?"
"The guy who made his messes," Darius corrected.
Her blood ran cold.
"Why is he here now?"
Darius stared at the ceiling.
"Because Alvero's body was never found."
She pushed off him, heart racing again for a different reason.
"And?"
"And if Lucien's here… it means someone's looking to resurrect the empire you helped destroy."
She froze.
He looked at her, eyes dark.
"Selene, you have a target on your back."
The room went silent.
And just as she opened her mouth to speak—her phone buzzed.
One word from Rocco.
He's back.