Elara wasn't sure what she had signed up for.

Her pen had barely left the contract when Damien's gaze locked onto her, sharp as a blade. "Tali will show you around. Your shift starts tonight."

That was it. No explanation, no small talk, just an order.

Now, standing behind the bar at Oasis of Joy, she realized she was in way over her head.

---

The Club – A Whole Different World

Oasis of Joy wasn't just a club. It was an empire.

The place dripped luxury—red velvet booths, golden chandeliers, and walls lined with expensive liquor. The air smelled of whiskey, cigars, and danger. Rich men whispered in corners, women in designer dresses laughed too easily, and the music thrummed through the floor like a heartbeat.

Tali, the bartender Damien had assigned to train her, smirked. "You look like a deer in headlights."

Elara swallowed. "I just... wasn't expecting this."

Tali leaned in. "What were you expecting?"

A normal job. A paycheck. Something safe.

She didn't answer.

Tali chuckled. "Don't worry, newbie. Stick with me, and you won't get eaten alive."

Before Elara could ask what that meant, a deep voice interrupted.

"Who's the rookie?"

She turned.

A man stood at the bar, arms crossed. Rafael Moreno.

Rafe.

She recognized him from earlier—Damien's right-hand man. He looked effortlessly dangerous, dressed in all black, with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Elara," she said cautiously.

He tilted his head. "And you're working here?"

She frowned. "Yeah. Why?"

Tali nudged her. "Rafe doesn't believe in coincidences."

Rafe's gaze lingered before he shrugged. "Hope you last longer than the others."

Others?

Before Elara could ask what he meant, the bar's atmosphere shifted.

The air grew tense.

The music didn't stop, but something was different.

Elara turned—just in time to see him walk in.

Damien.

---

The Man Everyone Fears

It was ridiculous, really. One man shouldn't be able to change the mood of an entire room. But he did.

Dressed in a tailored black suit, Damien DeLuca didn't just walk—he owned the space. Eyes followed him, whispers spread. Some with fear. Some with awe.

He moved with effortless confidence, his expression unreadable.

Bianca Laurent was the first to reach him.

Of course.

The woman practically draped herself over his arm. Blonde, gorgeous, and obviously rich. Her voice was syrupy sweet. "Damien, you're late."

He didn't even look at her. "I wasn't aware I had a schedule."

Bianca pouted. "You know I hate waiting."

Elara expected Damien to entertain her, maybe flirt back. Instead, he peeled Bianca's hand off his sleeve like she was an inconvenience.

Bianca's eyes narrowed when she noticed Elara watching.

Great. She'd made an enemy without even trying.

Damien's gaze flickered toward the bar, meeting Elara's for the briefest second.

A second too long.

Bianca noticed.

And she didn't like it.

---

The Warning

Later, while Elara was wiping down the counter, someone slid onto a barstool.

Lucy Moretti.

Unlike Bianca, Lucy wasn't the type to throw herself at Damien. She was effortlessly cool—dressed in all black, sipping her drink like she had nothing to prove.

"You're new," Lucy observed.

Elara nodded.

Lucy stirred her glass. "People like Bianca? They eat girls like you alive."

Elara frowned. "What does she have against me?"

Lucy smirked. "She doesn't like competition."

That made no sense.

Elara wasn't competing for Damien's attention.

Was she?

Before she could think about it, a low voice murmured behind her.

"You're adjusting well."

She turned—Damien.

Close.

Too close.

He leaned against the bar, watching her with unreadable eyes.

"I try," she managed.

Damien didn't smile, but there was something in his gaze—something unsettling. "Good."

Then he was gone.

Elara let out a shaky breath.

What had she just signed up for?