The rain hadn’t stopped all morning. It turned the city into a blur of neon lights and cold reflections — the kind of day that smelled like bad luck.

Aria Blake ran through the crowd, dodging umbrellas and puddles as she tried to protect the stack of papers pressed against her chest. Her cheap heels slipped once, twice. “Please don’t let me die before my first interview,” she muttered, half-panting.

The café on 7th Avenue glowed warm and golden inside. Aria pushed through the door — crash! Her shoulder slammed into someone solid, and her papers scattered like white birds.

Then came the smell of coffee. Hot, bitter, and spilled — all over a stranger’s black suit.

“Oh my God!” Aria froze, staring at the spreading stain. “I am so, so sorry!”

The man looked down at her, calm in a way that felt dangerous. He was tall — at least a head taller than her — with slick dark hair and eyes sharp enough to slice through excuses. His tie was midnight blue, his expression unreadable.

Finally, he spoke, voice smooth as velvet.

“You owe me a suit.”

Aria blinked. “You—what? You were the one standing in the doorway!”

He arched an eyebrow. “And you were the one running like a criminal.”

“I was late,” she snapped. “For something important.”

He smirked. “Ah. So that makes me collateral damage.”

Aria’s face burned. “Look, I can pay for the cleaning—”

He took the napkin from her shaking hand and dabbed at the stain himself. “Don’t bother. I can afford a new one.”

“Good,” she shot back, folding her arms. “Then we’re done here.”

He chuckled, low and amused. “Bold. Most people apologize until I let them go.”

“Then I’m not most people.”

He studied her for a heartbeat too long, eyes tracing her damp hair, the stubborn set of her jaw. “I can see that.”

Aria blinked, suddenly aware of how close they were. His voice had the kind of softness that didn’t match his expensive suit — or the faint scar that crossed his jaw.

He turned to leave, glancing over his shoulder once more. “Try not to knock over anyone dangerous next time, Miss…?”

“Blake,” she said automatically.

“Aria Blake,” he repeated, as if tasting the name. “I’ll remember that.”

And then he was gone — out into the rain, leaving her standing in a puddle of embarrassment.

---

By the time Aria reached her office, she had almost convinced herself to forget him. But fate, apparently, had a cruel sense of humor.

Her boss, Mr. Levin, didn’t even look up when she burst into the cramped newsroom. “You’re late, Blake.”

“I know, I—”

He shoved a folder toward her. “Here’s your next story. A profile piece on the Voss family. Rumors say they’re connected to Crescent City’s underground. I want facts.”

Aria flipped open the file, still catching her breath — and froze. The photo clipped inside showed a familiar face. Dark hair. Cold smile. Sharp eyes.

Adrian Voss.

The man from the café.

Her stomach dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Levin frowned. “Problem?”

“No,” she said quickly, closing the file. “None at all.”

But as she stared at Adrian’s picture, she couldn’t shake the feeling that his smirk — even in a photograph — was laughing at her.

---

That night, Aria sat in her small apartment, laptop open, typing furiously. Her notes scattered across the bed — half facts, half guesses.

Adrian Voss — 25, rumored heir to the Voss Syndicate.

Family fortune in real estate, shipping, and probably illegal activities.

Disappeared from public eye for a year after his mother’s death.

The more she read, the less sense he made. Some called him a philanthropist; others called him a criminal. A man with two faces.

She sighed and leaned back. “You owe me a suit,” she mimicked under her breath, rolling her eyes. “Arrogant jerk.”

Her phone buzzed — a message from her best friend, Mia.

> Mia: “Hey, you alive? Still chasing dangerous men for headlines?”

Aria: “Always. This one might actually kill me with his ego.”

Mia: “So you like him already 😂”

Aria: “Shut up.”

Aria laughed, the tension easing for a moment. But when she looked back at Adrian’s picture, something in his eyes pulled her in again — curiosity, maybe. Or danger disguised as charm.

She told herself it didn’t matter. She was a journalist. He was a story. End of discussion.

---

The next morning, she found herself standing outside the tall glass tower labeled Voss Industries.

Her reflection stared back — raincoat, notebook, nerves. She squared her shoulders and walked inside.

The lobby was silent except for the echo of her heels. People moved like shadows — expensive suits, blank faces. She approached the front desk.

“Good morning,” she said, forcing a smile. “I’m here to schedule an interview with Mr. Voss.”

The receptionist barely looked up. “Mr. Voss doesn’t do interviews.”

Aria frowned. “He might make an exception.”

“Unlikely.”

And then, a voice behind her — warm, amused, and familiar.

“Let her in.”

Aria turned. Adrian Voss stood a few feet away, one hand in his pocket, that same infuriating smile curling his lips.

“Miss Blake,” he said smoothly. “We meet again.”

Her throat went dry. “Don’t tell me you actually remembered my name.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Hard to forget the woman who baptized me in espresso.”

Aria wanted to roll her eyes, but his closeness made her pulse skip. “I’m here for a story.”

He smiled, eyes glinting. “Then you came to the right place.”

Before she could reply, he turned to the receptionist. “Send her to my office.”

The woman looked shocked but nodded. Aria followed him through the marble hallway, her mind racing.

This was it — her big chance. Her story. Her redemption.

She didn’t notice the way Adrian glanced at her over his shoulder, a hint of danger — and something else — flickering in his gaze.

---

When the elevator doors closed, silence wrapped around them.

Adrian leaned against the wall, watching her. “So, Miss Blake. Tell me… how far are you willing to go for the truth?”

She met his eyes. “As far as it takes.”

He smiled — a dark, knowing smile that sent a chill through her.

“Good,” he said softly. “Because the truth about me… isn’t safe.”

The elevator dinged open.

And as Aria stepped into his office, she realized she might have just walked straight into the lion’s den.

— End of Chapter 1 —

---

Aria had been in fancy offices before — but never one that felt like it could hide a thousand secrets.

Adrian Voss’s office was all glass and steel, overlooking Crescent City’s skyline. A storm was rolling in, lightning flashing in the distance, and for a split second she thought — perfect setting for a villain.

He moved behind his desk, jacket off now, sleeves rolled up, the faint line of a tattoo disappearing beneath his cuff. “You can sit, Miss Blake,” he said, gesturing to the leather chair opposite him.

She sat, crossing her legs and pulling out her recorder. “This won’t take long.”

He smiled, leaning back. “Take as long as you want. You’re the one breaking into my building.”

Her pen froze midair. “I didn’t break in. Your receptionist let me in.”

“Only because I told her to.”

He leaned forward, eyes sharp and amused. “So, journalist — what do you want to know?”

Aria met his gaze. “The truth.”

“About what?”

“About who you really are.”

He chuckled. “That could take a lifetime.”

Aria clicked the recorder on. “Let’s start smaller. Your company — Voss Industries — has been accused of laundering money for Crescent’s underworld. Care to comment?”

The smile didn’t fade. “Accused by who?”

“Anonymous sources.”

“Ah,” he said lightly, “so no proof. Just whispers.”

“Whispers are where stories begin.”

He stood, walking around the desk, his shoes silent on the marble floor. He stopped beside her chair, close enough that she could smell the faint spice of his cologne.

“Stories,” he murmured, “are also where lies are born.”

Aria turned toward him, refusing to flinch. “You don’t scare me.”

He smiled faintly. “I’m not trying to. If I wanted to scare you, you’d know.”

Her heartbeat betrayed her — too fast, too loud. “You really think you’re that dangerous?”

He tilted his head. “I don’t think. I know.”

Their eyes locked for a long second before he turned away, walking toward the window. Lightning flashed again, illuminating his reflection in the glass — strong, still, untouchable.

“Tell me, Miss Blake,” he said without turning around. “Why a story on me? Of all the powerful men in this city?”

Aria hesitated. “Because everyone’s afraid to talk about you. I’m not.”

He faced her again. “Maybe you should be.”

Silence stretched between them. Only the rain dared to speak.

Aria broke it first. “If you want me to stop digging, you’ll have to give me something real.”

He studied her, as if weighing a secret. Then, surprisingly, he smiled. “Fine. You want real? Come tonight.”

“What?”

He picked up a card and slid it across the desk. “Gala. 8 p.m. Charity event. I’ll be there. See for yourself what kind of monster I am.”

Aria frowned. “Why would you invite a reporter to your party?”

“Because,” he said softly, “I like watching people pretend they’re brave.”

She pocketed the card and stood. “You really have a god complex, don’t you?”

He grinned. “You’ll find out tonight.”

---

The gala was the kind of event that made the news: chandeliers, champagne, and too many diamonds. Aria wore her one decent black dress, blending in just enough to not stand out — but her nerves buzzed under her skin.

She spotted Adrian immediately. He stood near the bar, surrounded by men in suits and women in silk, smiling like he owned the world. Which, in a way, he probably did.

When his eyes met hers, it was like the rest of the room disappeared.

He excused himself from his circle and walked straight to her. “You came,” he said, clearly pleased.

“I said I would.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually be that reckless.”

“Guess you don’t know me well enough.”

He handed her a glass of champagne. “To bravery, then.”

She took it, trying not to look impressed. “To arrogance.”

He laughed — really laughed — and for a brief moment, she saw something human behind the power.

But the moment didn’t last.

Across the room, a tall man in a gray suit approached, face pale. “Sir,” he whispered, but Aria’s sharp ears caught the words, “The shipment’s late. The docks—”

Adrian’s expression darkened. “Handle it. Quietly.”

The man nodded and left.

Aria’s instincts screamed. “What shipment?”

He turned back, the mask sliding back on. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”

“Not when there’s something to uncover.”

“Then maybe you’re the dangerous one here,” he said quietly.

She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could — the lights flickered. A gunshot cracked through the air.

Screams erupted. People scattered. Adrian grabbed Aria by the wrist, pulling her behind a marble column just as chaos exploded around them.

“Stay down!” he ordered.

“What’s happening—”

“Rival family,” he growled, scanning the crowd. “Someone’s sending a message.”

Her heart pounded as she crouched beside him. “You’re telling me this is normal for your parties?”

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Only on Fridays.”

Another gunshot. The chandelier shattered, raining crystal. Adrian shielded her with his body, his arm tight around her.

When it was finally over, the attackers gone, the room looked like a war zone.

Adrian stood, pulling her up. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “No… I think.”

He looked her over anyway, his hand brushing against her shoulder. “Good.”

She took a shaky breath. “So this is your truth? Blood and money?”

He met her gaze, eyes darker than the storm outside. “My truth,” he said softly, “is that no one gets out clean. Not me. And not you, if you stay.”

She swallowed hard. “Then why invite me?”

He smiled faintly. “Because I wanted you to see what you’re walking into.”

“And what’s that?”

He leaned close, voice barely above a whisper. “My world.”

The sirens echoed outside. The lights flickered back on. Adrian straightened his tie, calm as if nothing had happened.

“Interview’s over,” he said. “For now.”

And before Aria could reply, he was gone again — leaving her standing in the chaos, heart racing, recorder still blinking red.

---

End of Chapter 2

---

Aria’s apartment was a mess. Papers scattered across her desk, notes tucked between books, and her laptop flashing the headline:

“The Voss Empire — Power, Money, and Shadows.”

She leaned back in her chair, sipping cold coffee. Her hands shook slightly — not from fear, but from adrenaline. The gala. The gunshots. Adrian Voss. That man was a disaster waiting to happen.

Her phone buzzed. Unknown number. She frowned but answered.

> Unknown: “Interesting article. But you really shouldn’t play with wolves, Miss Blake.”

Her pulse jumped. Adrian. “Who is this?” she typed back.

> Unknown: “Call me… a friend who enjoys watching chaos unfold. Meet me tonight. 9 PM. Hotel Voss rooftop.”

Aria stared at the message. Should I even go?

Her journalist instincts screamed yes. Her brain screamed no. Her heart? It skipped beats at the thought of seeing him again.

Damn it, she muttered. “Curiosity always kills me.”

---

The rooftop was empty, slick with rain and wind whipping her hair. The city lights glittered below like shards of glass. She hugged her coat tighter and scanned the rooftop. Then she heard it — footsteps. Slow, measured.

“Aria Blake,” a voice purred from the shadows.

She spun around. Adrian Voss stepped into the dim light, black coat billowing behind him. Even wet from the rain, he looked untouchable. Dangerous. Addictive.

“You’re persistent,” he said, tilting his head. “I like that.”

Aria squared her shoulders. “I’m a journalist. I dig for the truth. I don’t run away from danger.”

He smirked. “Danger doesn’t scare you, then?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Only fools are afraid of danger. Smart people avoid it.”

“Smart people…” he repeated softly, stepping closer. “And what are you? Smart, or foolish?”

“Depends on who’s asking.”

He chuckled, and the sound was like velvet sliding over steel. “Careful, Miss Blake. You might be in over your head.”

She felt her heartbeat quicken. Why does he make it so hard to think?

---

Adrian circled her slowly, eyes scanning the city below before resting on her. “You wrote about me.”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “And I’ll keep writing until I know who you really are.”

“You want the truth?” His gaze sharpened. “Truth isn’t pretty. It isn’t polite. And it’s not safe.”

“Then maybe I’m ready to risk it.”

A flash of amusement crossed his face. “Maybe. Or maybe you just like the danger.”

Aria bristled. “I’m not here for games.”

He stopped, leaning close, so close that the cold rain mixed with the heat between them. “This isn’t a game. Not for me. Not for you.”

Her stomach flipped. “Then what is it?”

He smiled faintly, eyes glinting in the city lights. “A warning.”

Her fingers twitched toward her recorder in her bag. “A warning? Or a threat?”

He leaned even closer, so that their breaths mingled. “Call it… a promise.”

---

Before she could respond, a sound sliced through the night — a vehicle skidding on wet asphalt, tires squealing. Adrian’s eyes went cold. “Move.”

Aria barely had time to react as he shoved her behind a low wall. Two men, dressed in black, appeared from the shadows, guns raised.

“Stay down!” Adrian barked, drawing his own weapon with a fluid motion that made her stomach tighten.

“Who are they?” she whispered.

“People who don’t like me very much,” he replied calmly, shooting a precise warning shot into the air.

Her heart raced, but a part of her couldn’t help the thrill. This is insane… and I’m loving it.

Adrian moved with predator-like grace, taking cover behind a concrete pillar. His eyes never left her. “Stay close. Don’t move unless I say.”

One of the men fired. Bullets shattered a nearby railing. Adrian returned fire, and the attackers scrambled, realizing they were outmatched.

When it was over, silence returned. Rain pattered on the rooftop. Adrian lowered his weapon and looked at her, wet hair sticking to his forehead, expression unreadable.

“You okay?” he asked, voice calm.

“I—yes,” she stammered, still gripping the wall.

He stepped closer. “Good. You just learned something valuable tonight.”

“And what’s that?”

He smirked. “That in my world, curiosity is dangerous. But sometimes… worth the risk.”

Her pulse raced, a mixture of fear, excitement, and something else she couldn’t name.

“Why did you save me?” she asked, finally meeting his gaze.

“Because,” he said softly, eyes dark, “you’re the only one who’s not afraid to look at me and still stand your ground.”

She swallowed. “And that makes me… special?”

He chuckled, brushing rain from his shoulder. “Let’s call it… memorable.”

The city lights reflected in his eyes — dark, stormy, and impossible to read. “Remember this, Miss Blake,” he said. “Once you step into my world, there’s no going back.”

She shivered. “I don’t intend to.”

He smiled — a slow, dangerous, teasing smile — and turned toward the edge of the rooftop. “Then let’s see how long you last.”

Before she could reply, he leapt gracefully to the fire escape, disappearing into the shadows.

Aria stood there, drenched, heart pounding, realizing something terrifying and exhilarating.

She was addicted.

To the man.

To the danger.

To the thrill.

And she had no idea what she was really getting into.

— End of Chapter 3 —