CHAPTER ONE

Love doesn’t knock—it crashes in.

It doesn’t wait until your life is perfectly stitched together. No, it prefers the ruins.

The mess. The blood and bruises of a soul too tired to believe in it.

Trust? That word might as well be written in smoke—pretty, delicate, and gone the moment you try to hold onto it. In a world drowning in masks and manicured lies, how could you

expect me to trust anything that breathes?

But if I’ve learned anything, it’s this: chaos has a heartbeat. And mine? It was about to race for all the wrong reasons.

—A week ago—

The sound of heels slamming against linoleum echoed like gunfire down the abandoned

corridor.

“Keep up, Mayla!”

Her breath came in ragged bursts. Her lungs ached. But she didn’t dare slow down. Not now. Not with shadows chasing her like wolves—ravenous, relentless.

“Block her off! If she slips away, the boss will have our fucking heads on a platter!”

Their voices were sharp, full of threat, but there was desperation in them too. Good.

That meant she still had the upper hand—for now.

Mayla turned a sharp corner, eyes darting. There—an unlocked door, cracked just enough to be an invitation. She slipped inside,

slamming it shut and ramming a desk and

filing cabinet in front of it. Her hands trembled as she whispered, “Buy me some time…”

She pressed her back against the cool wall, heart rattling in its cage. Her thoughts spiraled. Debry. That smooth-talking bastard. “Her plans are always trash,” she muttered. “Why the hell do I still listen to her?”

But regret wouldn’t get her out of this mess.

She adjusted her outfit, ripping the slit in her skirt higher for better mobility. The banging on the door started soft—then grew. Boom. Boom. Boom. She knew that sound. Knew it was only a matter of time before—

CRACK!!.

The wood splintered. Dust fell. Mayla’s body tensed as the door creaked open.

A shadow filled the frame. Broad shoulders. Cold eyes. A sneer like he already thought he’d won.

“Well, well,” she said, voice as sharp as a blade. “Took you long enough.”

“You’re the one stirring up tonight’s circus?” His voice was gravel wrapped in arrogance.

She tilted her head, smirking. “Guilty. What’s your excuse? Poor tracking skills?”

“I’m not here to talk.”

“Good. Neither am I.”

He lunged.

Mayla moved.

Her body was a blur of muscle memory and adrenaline. She ducked under his swing,

pivoted, and drove her heel into his

thigh—hard. He buckled, and she used his

momentum to send him sprawling.

“Next,” she breathed, wiping a smudge of blood from her cheek.

But there was no time to rest.

The second one came in fast. He didn’t speak, just grabbed her by the waist and slammed her onto the table. Pain flared through her back—but fear? No. That had burned out long ago.

Her fingers closed around a vase. Without hesitation, she brought it down on his head. It shattered. So did he. Blood trickled down his temple as he crumpled.

“You boys never learn,” she whispered.

Then came the third. Sloppy. Angry.

Predictable.

She ducked his swing, grabbed a chair leg, and swung it upward into his ribs. The impact sent him tumbling. He hit the ground hard—then didn’t move again.

Silence.

Just the sound of her breathing, heavy and raw, filling the room.

Mayla backed toward the window, fingers working fast. She tied sheets together—tight knots, steady hands—and threw the makeshift rope out. Her gaze flicked downward. Not too far. Not if she landed right.

Without a second thought, she climbed out and rappelled down the side of the building like the devil himself was on her heels.

Once her feet hit the ground, she ran. No

hesitation. No looking back.

The night air hit her face, sharp and cold. Her eyes scanned the road—then locked onto headlights in the distance.

She stumbled into the street, waving her arms. “Help! Please! I need a ride—someone’s after me!”

The car slowed. A beat of hesitation. Then the lock clicked.

She threw the door open and jumped in. “Just take me to the nearest bus stop. Anywhere but here.”

The driver didn’t ask questions. Just hit the gas, and they vanished into the night—leaving blood, broken glass, and a trail of regrets

behind them.

Some nights don’t end when the sun comes up. They haunt you, stick to your skin like smoke. And no amount of running makes the shadows forget your name.

The car’s engine hummed like a lullaby for the damned. Mayla leaned against the cold

window, eyes half-closed, heartbeat still sprinting in her chest.

The driver—middle-aged, silent, with a face that had seen too much—didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to. The blood on her knuckles, the torn hem of her skirt, the smudge across her cheek… it told a story. One he had the good sense not to ask about.

“Bus stop,” he said finally, pulling to the side of a half-lit street.

She turned to him, voice gravel-soft. “What’s your name?”

He hesitated. “Marcus.”

“Thank you, Marcus.”

He gave her a tight nod. “Whatever you’re running from, I hope you make it.”

She offered a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, then stepped out. The night clung to her like a second skin.

Twenty minutes later, she stood in Front of her apartment, her heels one leg already broken as she stood on the outside foot mart boldly

written WELCOME.

Her sparkling bag clutched tight to her side. There she thought about Everything she owned. Everything she couldn’t afford to lose.

Morning in the city was supposed to mean

renewal. But sometimes, all it does is give your ghosts better lighting.

Horns screamed. Engines revved.

The air buzzed with tension and caffeine.

The city didn’t sleep—it just blinked slower during daylight.

In a narrow hallway, lined with peeling

wallpaper and the faint stench of regret, the calm shattered.

“Damn it, you’re such a jerk!”

Mayla exploded into the room like a lit match thrown into gasoline. The door slammed against the wall, and in one fluid motion, her hand tangled in Debry’s hair, dragging her down like she was yanking truth from a liar’s throat.

“Mayla, I swear—I didn’t know!” Debry’s voice cracked as panic kicked in.

“You didn’t know?” Mayla’s voice was a storm. Her eyes, dark and merciless, burned into her friend’s. “You have no idea what could’ve

happened to me out there. You nearly handed me to death on a silver platter.”

Debry whimpered, body trembling, tears

brimming fast. “This is on me, okay? I messed up… I messed up bad.”

Mayla’s grip didn’t ease. Her jaw clenched like a ticking time bomb. Then, like a sharp cut to tension, she exhaled and leaned back—just slightly.

“Fine,” she muttered, a sly edge sliding into her voice. “How about you buy me that designer bag you’ve been fawning over? You want

forgiveness? Pay the toll.”

Debry blinked. Confused. Hopeful. Desperate. “You’re serious?”

Mayla’s smirk returned, all fang and fire. “Dead serious.”

Reluctantly, Debry nodded. “Deal… but, Jesus. You were really about to go full assassin on me.”

“I had my reasons.”

“Oh yeah?” Debry scoffed, brushing her fingers through her messy hair. “Was one of them trading my life for a luxury bag?”

“Not just any bag. A high-end one. And you’re damn right—it’s on your card.”

Debry rolled her eyes. “Of course. You never let anything slide.”

“Exactly,” Mayla said, collapsing onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Now I can finally wear that outfit I’ve been saving all summer.”

She kicked off her boots, a grin tugging at her lips. “What a ride. I’m so done.”

The TV flickered on. Mayla flipped through channels like she was skimming through other people’s lives.

“Boring… skip… not that… ugh—”

Her voice trailed off with a wide yawn.

Then the broadcast hit.

BREAKING NEWS: “Liam Kade returns to the city after a long hiatus. With his empire stronger than ever, he’s set to ignite innovation and shake the foundations of our local

economy…”

Mayla squinted at the screen. “Liam Kade?

Seriously?” She snorted, chewing on a crust of cold pizza. “Mr. Big Shot comes back and thinks he’s the city’s second coming… Bet he doesn’t even know which street corners bleed.”

The screen flickered again. Static. Commercials.

Behind her, Debry snatched her keys off the counter.

“Off to The House,” she announced, throwing on her jacket with flair. “Try showing up on time, Miss Star of the Show.”

Mayla waved a hand lazily. “Sure, sure. Just don’t forget my bag, diva.”

With a smirk and a sigh, Debry paused at the door. “You’re such a handful. Good thing you’re pretty. Otherwise, I’d have left you for dead ages ago.”

The door slammed behind her.

Silence returned like an old friend.

“Finally,” Mayla muttered, eyes fluttering shut, her body melting into the couch. “Peace… for now.”

NOON.

Sunlight glared off the windshield as Mayla pulled up to a tall building dressed up like a boutique hotel, its sign gleaming in bold chrome: THE HOUSE.

She killed the engine, stepped out, heels

clicking against the pavement like declarations.

A valet jogged over. Young, clean-cut, trying too hard to be casual.

“Good evening, ma’am—”

“Edwin.” Mayla grinned like she’d just caught him doing something embarrassing. “What’s with the stiff greeting?”

He hesitated. “I… saw you yesterday. With that guy.”

Mayla’s eyes flicked sharp. For half a second, ice. Then she smirked. “Handled it.”

“And… maybe tone down the language,” she added with a mock stern look. “Aren’t you

supposed to be the professional one?”

Caught off guard, Edwin blushed and looked away. “I just—look, you’re different now, okay? You feel… I don’t know… dangerous.”

Mayla laughed, a low, dangerous sound. She reached up, ruffling his hair like a sister teasing a younger brother. “You’re too easy. I’ll see you around, Eddie.”

Then she walked inside, like she owned the place.

And maybe, just maybe—She was starting to.

The city never really slept—it just changed masks. The skyline shimmered in the distance like it had something to prove, but down on the ground, everything was darker, messier, and real. Liem Kade liked it better that way.

Inside his penthouse office, high above the chaos, Liem stood at the edge of the glass, smoke curling from his lips, fading into the city’s dying light. Below him, life pulsed like a wound trying to heal.

Behind him, the door creaked open.

Carol stepped in, perfume sharp and red dress sharper. The slit on her leg reached

ambition-levels high, and she moved like the world should bend for her.

“The senators’ invite—for tomorrow’s grand opening. Will you attend?” she asked, voice cool but edged with something hopeful.

Liem didn’t turn. Just another drag from his cigarette. Another long, unbothered exhale.

“Yes.”

One word. Clean. Final.

Carol’s lips twitched. “I’ll arrange everything. Goodnight, Sir.”

He didn’t answer. She didn’t wait.

She closed the door behind her with silent grace, heels clicking through the marble halls like punctuation marks on her dreams.

LOBBY LEVEL

Carol walked like she owned the place—even if whispers said she didn’t earn it. She didn’t care. Eyes forward, chin high. Liem Kade had returned, and she was on his arm—or close enough.

As she passed a group of receptionists, the hush dropped.

“God, look at her.”

“She’s been different ever since he came back.”

“Like she’s already measuring the curtains in his bedroom.”

Carol didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. She’d played the long game before, and this time, she wasn’t going to lose.

THE LOCAL LOUNGE — LATE NIGHT

The city’s pulse thickened here. Neon signs buzzed like old promises. Music throbbed from the walls. The air smelled like sweat, perfume, and sin dressed in sequins.

Mayla slipped in through the back entrance like always. She hated the front—the eyes, the judgment, the soft hands pretending to tip too well.

Back here, it was girls and grit.

She dropped her bag at her station, flopped into her chair in front of the mirror, and stared. She looked tired. Beautiful, but tired. Like someone who’d been outrunning something for too long.

A sudden squeeze wrapped around her

shoulders.

“Mayla!” came Tyla’s unmistakable squeal. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Mayla gave her a half smile. “Sorry. Things got… messy.”

Tyla narrowed her eyes. “You bailed on the new bar. You never bail.”

“I had too much to drink,” Mayla lied smoothly. “Didn’t even remember getting home.”

Tyla didn’t buy it. “You blackout now? Since when?”

Mayla shrugged and reached for her concealer. “Guess last night was… one of those.”

Tyla studied her like a scientist with a mystery. “You sure you’re okay?”

Mayla gave a hollow chuckle. “Define okay.”

Tyla rolled her eyes. “Whatever. But notice anything new about me?” She puffed her chest like it was about to announce itself.

Mayla blinked. “Um… new lashes?”

Tyla gasped. “No, you idiot. The girls! I finally did it.”

Mayla stared, squinting. “Wait. You got

implants?”

“Yes! And they’re perfect.” She bounced

slightly, proud like a kid showing off new shoes.

Mayla laughed, but it faded fast. She winced slightly, as if the sound scraped something raw in her throat.

Before she could recover, the dressing room door burst open.

Ramona stormed in—forty-something,

unforgiving, with a stack of outfits and zero patience. Her voice cracked like a whip.

“Save the giggles. We’re on in ten. Dress up or get out.”

“Yes, boss,” Mayla and Tyla chimed, fake cheerful.

Ramona didn’t smile. Just rolled her eyes and walked out muttering, “you two are always planning something don’t mess up my Bar

today.”

ON THE FLOOR

Mayla changed in silence. The red dress hugged every angle like a secret it didn’t want to tell. Deep neckline. Backless. Split up one leg like temptation had taken tailoring lessons.

When she stepped out onto the floor, the music shifted—lowered, slowed, thickened. The lights dimmed, focusing, watching.

And so was he.

In the farthest booth, wrapped in shadow and lit only by the ember of a cigarette, sat Liem Kade.

He didn’t come here to be seen.

He came to see.

The cherry of his cigarette burned softly between his fingers. One arm draped over the leather booth, the other resting near a tumbler of untouched scotch. He watched Mayla with the precision of a man who noticed too much and said too little.

She moved through the crowd like water, like silk, like danger. The room bent for her without knowing why.

And she felt it.

A chill down her spine. A tingle in her chest. That invisible pull—eyes on her. Not the usual kind. Not hungry or careless. But sharp.

Unapologetic. Predatory.

She glanced over her shoulder, pretending not to care.

But she saw him.

And something in her stopped.

Not fear. Not interest. Something else. Like recognition… of something she should run from but probably wouldn’t.

Their eyes locked for the briefest second.

Liem’s lips curled—not quite a smile, not quite anything.

He tapped ash into a crystal tray. And waited.

...****************...

EARLYLIER.

Liem stubbed the cigarette into the ashtray, grabbed his coat, and headed out. Tonight, he needed release.

THE HOUSE

The building loomed like a fortress, sleek black glass and golden accents etched into its

towering figure. “THE HOUSE” blazed in bold letters across the top, glowing like a warning and a promise all at once.

Inside, it was opulence painted in sin. Gilded chandeliers hung like inverted crowns, velvet shadows clung to corners, and laughter echoed like secrets shared by ghosts. The air pulsed with heavy bass and even heavier

desires.

Liem entered with measured steps, his

bodyguard shadowing him. Heads turned, conversations paused. He moved like thunder wrapped in silk—tall, dark, lethal.

At the VIP booth, his long-time friend Kalen greeted him with a smirk and a glass of

something expensive.

“Took you long enough,” Kalen said, gesturing toward the plush seat beside him. “Figured I’d have to drag you out of that damn coffin of an office.”

“You did,” Liem replied, voice like smoke and frost.

The booth was already a small kingdom of its own. Girls draped in fabric that barely passed for clothing circled like moths drawn to an

impossible flame. They laughed too loudly, leaned too close, whispered things they didn’t believe just to touch a piece of him.

But Liem was far away, even as he sat there, drink in hand. Unmoved.

Until she walked in.

—

Mayla

The music shifted—low and teasing—like it knew what was coming.

She stepped into the red-lit room like she was born from it. Her red dress clung to her like a secret. It slipped over her curves and draped down her legs with enough slit to draw breath but not enough to give it. Her hair cascaded down her back in dark waves, swaying with her every step.

Conversation faltered. Eyes tracked her. The world seemed to narrow.

But Mayla didn’t notice. She was in her zone, her heartbeat syncing with the music as she claimed the floor without asking. Her heels tapped a silent rhythm—one that said she

belonged here. Not just belonged… dominated.

She danced.

Not the kind of dance men pay to watch. This was something else. Every move was

deliberate. Poised. Dangerous. Like she was telling a story in a language no one else spoke, and still… everyone listened.

Liem was still.

She moved like a blade hidden beneath

silk—slow, sharp, lethal.

She wasn’t just beautiful. She was

untouchable. And that made her dangerous.

The kind of dangerous Liem craved.

He leaned forward, elbows on knees, drink

forgotten. Around him, girls still giggled and reached for his attention. He didn’t blink.

“Kalen,” he muttered, voice low.

“Hmm?”

“The girl in red. Who is she?”

Kalen squinted. “Ah. Mayla.” He gave a slow nod. “New favorite around here. Sharp mouth, quick wit. Not the kind you can buy, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Liem smirked, eyes still locked on her. “Even better.”

Mayla ended her performance with a slow turn, catching the glimmer of dozens of eyes locked on her. Applause broke out—raw,

unfiltered, real. She gave a faint nod and slipped off the stage, unaware that her every move had pulled a thread in something she couldn’t see.

Back at the booth, Liem was no longer

watching the room. He was watching her.

The predator had found his prey.

But what he didn’t realize was—

This prey bites back.