The first time I saw him, I knew he was dangerous.
It wasn't just the way he moved—calculated, confident, the kind of man who never had to second-guess his power. It was in his eyes, dark and unreadable, like he already knew what I tasted like before we had even spoken.
I wasn't supposed to be there that night. The club was an exclusive one, hidden behind layers of secrecy, a place where men like him made deals in the shadows. I had come because of a friend, a favor I should have never agreed to. But the moment I walked in, I felt the shift in the air.
And then I felt his eyes on me.
I turned. He was watching me from across the room, his broad frame leaned back in a leather chair, a whiskey glass resting between his fingers. He didn't blink, didn't look away. He just studied me, like he was deciding something.
I should have looked away first. I should have ignored him, pretended I didn't feel the heat crawling up my skin. But something about him—something dark and dangerous—held me in place.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours. And then, just as I was about to turn away, he moved.
A slow rise from his seat. A smooth stride through the crowd. And suddenly, he was there, in front of me.
"Do you know who I am?" His voice was deep, laced with amusement, but there was no kindness in it.
I swallowed. "No."
A smirk. "You will."
Before I could respond, his fingers brushed against my wrist, a light touch that sent a shiver through me. It wasn't just a touch—it was a claim. A silent promise.
I had just been marked by him. And I had no idea what that meant yet.
But I would.
—End of Chapter one.