Chapter 1: The Obsidian Club
Evelyn Hart didn't belong at The Obsidian Club. She knew that the moment she stepped through the iron-framed doorway, her heels clicking too loud against the polished marble floors, her breath catching in her throat as if the air itself was laced with something dangerous. She wasn't the type to frequent places like this. The low hum of jazz, the flicker of dim chandelier lights, the mix of heavy cologne and expensive whiskey that made the club feel more like a tomb than a place of indulgence—none of it fit the world she had once known.
But tonight… Tonight was different. Tonight, she had nothing left to lose.
Her eyes scanned the room, a faint ache of longing in her chest. The glittering crowd around her moved like shadows, beautiful but distant, as if everyone here wore a mask—either figuratively or literally. The women draped in satin and diamonds, the men in bespoke suits, their faces unreadable, their smiles too smooth. There was a heaviness in the air, an electric charge that made her skin prickle, but Evelyn couldn't place it. Not until she felt the gaze.
It was impossible to ignore. It slithered across her skin like a whispered promise of something forbidden. She turned, instinctively, as if something had tugged her toward him, and that's when she saw him.
Dante Moretti. The man who had haunted her dreams for the last five years, and yet, she had never seen him in person until now.
His eyes were like black velvet, deep and unreadable, a piercing darkness that seemed to swallow everything in its path. He stood by the bar, his frame tall and imposing, a predator in a tailored suit. His dark hair was a little too long, slightly tousled, as though he didn't care about the impeccable cut of his clothes. His presence alone commanded attention. And everyone, it seemed, had learned to give him that.
Her heart skipped a beat.
He wasn't supposed to be here. She hadn't planned on this, on him. He was a shadow from her past, one she thought she could forget. But there he was, standing in the flesh, staring at her with an intensity that made her blood run cold and hot at the same time. Her chest tightened. She fought to keep her breathing even, to keep her feet planted firmly on the ground. The sudden surge of heat in her veins felt like a betrayal, like her body was remembering what her mind had tried to forget.
Dante's lips curled into a slight smile, his gaze never leaving hers as if he knew exactly what she was feeling. And that was the thing about him—he always had a way of seeing straight through her, of making her feel exposed even when she was miles away from him. It was no wonder he was untouchable. No one could resist him. Not for long.
He stepped toward her, the crowd parting for him like the Red Sea. There was no hesitation in his movements, no second thoughts. He simply moved, and the world adjusted.
"Evelyn," he said, his voice a low drawl that wrapped around her like a velvet rope. Her name on his lips sent a shiver through her spine, a reminder of the night she had tried so hard to erase.
She looked at him, and for a moment, she couldn't breathe. "I didn't expect to see you here."
His gaze darkened, the hint of a smirk still playing at the edges of his lips. "Funny. I didn't expect to see you, either. But here you are."
Her throat tightened. She couldn't back away—not with him so close, his scent filling her senses, his presence so overwhelming. She had to remind herself that this wasn't a fairytale. This wasn't a reunion. It couldn't be. She had built a life without him, a life that was fragile but real. Her eyes flickered to the men standing near the back of the room, their eyes trained on her, no doubt sensing the tension between them.
Dante noticed too. His eyes flashed, sharp and calculating. "You're still running from something, Evelyn," he said, his voice a dangerous whisper.
Her heart stuttered, the unspoken truth hanging between them like a live wire. He didn't know, not yet. And she wasn't about to tell him.
"I'm not running," she said, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her. "I'm just… living."
He studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowing, as if weighing her words, deciding if he believed them.
There was a long pause, heavy with history neither of them wanted to acknowledge.
"You didn't come here for a drink, Evelyn," Dante said, stepping even closer, his proximity making her heart race. "You came here for something else."
The words hit her like a punch to the gut, too raw, too honest. She had tried to forget, to push the memories of that night away, but standing here, looking into his eyes, she knew. She couldn't keep running forever.
The weight of everything she had hidden from him—the secret she had carried for five years—pressed down on her chest, suffocating. She had thought she was safe. But the moment their paths crossed again, the game had changed.
Before she could respond, a shadow passed across Dante's face. His eyes shifted behind her, and the familiar tension of danger washed over him. She didn't need to turn around to know that the threat had arrived.
But Dante was already moving, his body a blur of calculated power, his hand gripping her wrist as he pulled her toward him.
"You'll stay with me," he said, his voice a command, low and lethal. "No more running, Evelyn. Not from me. Not from anyone."
And as he led her deeper into the shadows, the world seemed to close in around them. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, a constant reminder of what she had tried to leave behind, and what was now pulling her back into a world she could never escape.