Chapter 2 - Trapped In Blue

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...LIANA...

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The elevator doors slid open with an exhale of cool air, and I stepped forward, my boots heels clicking against the polished black marble. The moment I set foot onto the second floor, an unsettling realization settled in my bones...this place was nothing like the restobar I had left behind moments ago. From the outside, Stasya Noir posed as just another high-end luxury bar, a haven for the elite to sip aged whiskey and exchange pleasantries over caviar platters.

But this? This was something else entirely.

The hallway stretched ahead like a labyrinth, broad yet winding, as if designed to disorient. The golden chandeliers from downstairs were gone, replaced by dim sconces casting muted glows against obsidian walls. There was no steady hum of conversation, no clinking of glasses or distant echo of jazz. Only silence. A silence so deep it pressed against my skin, heavy and deliberate.

I moved carefully, forcing my strides to carry the confidence of someone who belonged here. But the deeper I walked, the clearer it became- this floor wasn’t just another lounge or private suite extension of the bar. It was built for something far more intricate, something that thrived in the dark, unseen by prying eyes.

The doors weren’t neatly aligned like a hotel or even a members-only lounge. There was no structure, no order. Each room was set apart, placed in a way that made no sense-...unless, of course, the purpose was secrecy. I counted the distance between them, noted the lack of uniformity. Some were tucked into corners, others stood boldly in the open, yet all were eerily silent. Soundproofed, most likely. Built to contain whatever happened behind them.

No whispers. No stray echoes. No evidence.

A chill ran down my spine, but I ignored it. This was what I came for. If I let a maze of hidden rooms and suffocating air rattle me, I might as well turn around now. But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. But the worst part? I have to pretend I belong here.

I move, careful and slow, like someone who knows exactly where they’re going. But the reality is… I am not welcome here

8 men.

That’s how many I counted so far.

All in identical black suits, stationed strategically throughout the hallway. Some stood guard outside certain doors, unmoving, their presence like that of silent sentinels. Others patrol, their dark sunglasses sweeping over everything- including me. Me, in this ridiculous dress that does nothing to make me blend in...they weren’t just watching. They were assessing. Calculating. The longer I stayed, the closer I came to being marked as something that didn’t belong.

I kept my face blank, my movements smooth, like this wasn’t my first time weaving through this world. Like I wasn’t the least bit unsettled by the weight of those gazes or the sharp awareness that I was being evaluated for something beyond just my presence.

I couldn’t even check my phone for updates or text Julia about it, not without drawing suspicion. A simple move- pulling it out, glancing at the screen might be the one mistake that gives me away. So I kept my hands by my sides, my fingers relaxed despite the tension buzzing beneath my skin.

I just had to keep walking.

Like I’d been here before.

Like I was meant to be here.

Like I wasn’t an uninvited guest about to shatter the illusion of belonging the second I made one wrong move.

The center of the floor stretches out before me, a crossroads of uncertainty. Left, right, straight, back-..four open paths waiting for my decision. What in the actual hell? My pulse quickens. I regret not having studied the layout of this place beforehand, but it’s not like I had access to a damn blueprint anyway.

With a groan, I roll my shoulders and make a choice...left. Might as well regret it.

I step forward, my heels barely making a sound against the polished floor, and suddenly, the corridor opens into an unexpected dead-end. Except it’s not quite a dead-end. A staircase. One singular, lonely stairway leading up to God knows where. There’s a sign...bold, clear, and practically glaring at me- NOT FOR VISITORS OR NON-PERMITTED STAFF.

Anyone with half a brain would take that as a warning and turn the hell around. Not me. My toxic trait is screaming at me to go ahead. And let’s be honest, in my line of work, following my gut-..no matter how reckless-..is the only reason I’ve survived this long.

So, with a deep inhale, I move.

The stairs aren’t like the luxurious, grand ones scattered across this place, all marble and glass meant to impress. No, these are narrow, functional, and steep, like they exist for necessity, not aesthetics.

When I reach the top, I find another door. I push against it. Nothing. Locked.

I exhale sharply, pressing my forehead against the cold metal. “Of course, it’s locked,” I mutter under my breath. “Because why wouldn’t it be? Why make things easy, right?” I knock against it once, as if the universe might take pity on me.

Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.

Fine. Waste of time. I should go back and check the other hallways before I lose my shot tonight.

Except time decides to cut me a break.

The second I turn to step back down the stairs, I hear it. Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate. Voices- male, deep, discussing something in a language I don’t fully understand. The weight of their presence coils around me like a warning. And they’re coming straight toward me.

Panic seizes me by the throat. Shit. Shit. Shit.

My brain completely blanks, my body stuck in a frozen moment of pure why-the-hell-did-I-do-this regret. I need to think. Fast. But all I can do is curse myself and my stupid compulsion to ignore every red flag in existence.

The voices grow louder.

Then, one of them speaks with a sharp edge of suspicion.

“Did you see that?”

I swallow hard. See what?

“The door. It wasn’t open earlier.”

Every nerve in my body locks up. Oh, great. Now they’re suspicious. Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic.

“Someone’s here.”

Panic escalates to full-blown internal screaming. Okay, Liana, do something!!.

I glance around, but there’s nowhere to hide. The pillar by the stairs is too exposed. If I rush down now, I’ll be seen. My only chance is-...

Click.

The door behind me opens.

Without thinking-..without a single logical thought in my head- I spin around, grab the first thing my hands land on (which happens to be a wrist), and shove myself inside the doorway, dragging whoever it is with me.

The door slams shut behind us. Warm breath ghosts over the top of my head.

“What the he-”

The words die in his throat as I slap a hand over his mouth, my heart hammering against my ribs like it wants to make a run for it. My left hand shoves the door shut, locking it with a quiet but firm click. I press myself against the door, ears straining, tracking the footsteps outside as they slow.

Breathe. Just breathe. They won’t open the door. They can’t.

The voices linger...muffled, suspicious, questioning why the terrace door was left ajar. A knot tightens in my stomach, but I force myself to stay still. The seconds stretch unbearably, a cruel game of patience.

Then, finally, the footsteps fade.

I let out a slow breath, my tense muscles releasing only slightly. That’s when I realize it. Warm braeth, seething and slow, burning against my palm. My fingers twitch against soft skin, my pulse roaring to life in my ears. Slowly, my gaze shifts upward, following the rigid line of a sharp jaw, the dark shadow of stubble, the sculpted edges of cheekbones set under the dim blue light of the terrace.

And then.....the eyes.

A shade of blue so deep, so merciless, it knocks the air straight out of my lungs. Dark ocean waves in a storm, locked directly onto mine, unwavering, unreadable, and fucking pissed. A deep furrow sits between his brows, a silent demand for an explanation.

My hand is still covering half his face, my fingertips ghosting over the cut of his cheekbone.

Oh.

I rip my hand back like I’ve been burned, stepping away too fast, my back hitting the door.

“I..um...sorr-” The word barely makes it out before a hand clamps around my wrist.

Before I can even process it, I’m spun, the world tilting for a split second before my back collides with the wall. A sharp gasp leaves my lips, my eyes widening, my wrists pinned on either side of me, the cold press of his fingers against my pulse making my heart pound even harder.

He towers over me. The scent of musk and something darker fills my lungs-...something expensive, something dangerous. His grip is firm but not bruising, just enough to let me know who’s in control now. My breath stutters as his face inches closer, shadows carving out every sharp line, every angle, every restrained edge of fury in those damn eyes.

“What,” he drawls, his voice as smooth as it is lethal, “the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

My throat dries. My mind scrambles for something, anything, but all I can do is stare-..stare at the fire licking at the edges of those dark blue eyes, stare at the press of his lips as they twitch in barely restrained irritation.

I’ve made a mistake.

A very, very big mistake.

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