Chapter 1

Zara’s P.O.V

The car didn’t pull up to the entrance I’d seen online.

Yes, I research this place up, the second Rosa talked about it. And I was impressed.

That was the first sign that my expectations were about to be thrown out the window.

Instead of neon lights and a restless crowd, we turned into a narrow side street where the music was only a distant pulse, like a heartbeat behind stone walls. The driver stopped beside an unmarked black door, guarded by two men who looked less like bouncers and more like soldiers.

My fingers tightened around my clutch.

Rosa stepped out first, perfectly calm, perfectly amused. “Welcome to Italy.” She said, smiling as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

I followed her, my heels echoing softly against the cobblestones. Something about the silence made my skin prickle. No shouting. No laughter spilling into the street.

One of the men looked us over once, his gaze sharp and unreadable. No questions. No hesitation. He nodded and pulled the door open.

Inside, another man waited with a silver tray.

Masks.

My breath hitched as I reached for one, black satin, cool and smooth beneath my fingers, edged with subtle detailing that felt intimate, somehow dangerous.

“A mask?” I asked quietly, glancing at Rosa.

She leaned closer, her voice light but knowing. “Trust me. You’ll want it.”

The door closed behind us with a solid thud.

And everything I thought I knew about clubs disappeared.

The room opened into shadows and gold, vast and intoxicating. Chandeliers hung low, their light dimmed by smoke and silk drapes that shifted lazily with the movement and f bodies. The music wasn’t loud, it was slow and deliberate, sliding beneath my skin instead of crashing into it.

People didn’t dance here.

They glided.

People wore masks to hide their faces, but their intentions couldn’t not be hidden behind the mask. The touches lasted longer and tempting.

I forgot to breathe.

“This is…” I didn’t even know how to finish the sentence.

Rosa slipped her mask on, her smile curving beneath it. “Not what you imagined?”

“I thought it would be chaotic,” I admitted. “This feels… different… controlled.”

“That’s what keeps the temptations high and dangerous.” She laughs softly. “And Matteo owns this.”

Matteo, my stepbrother, whom I don’t know what he look like, he didn’t even show up for our parents wedding. And he is also Rosa boyfriend.

So here I am, as an exchange student, to live with a brother I don’t know. Mom said it’s best for us to create siblings bond.

I tied the ribbon of my mask behind my head. The moment it settled against my face, something inside me shifted, like I’d stepped out of my own life and into a secret version of myself.

No name. No history. Just sensations.

My spine tingled.

Rosa leaned in her lips close to my ear. “Rule number one,” she murmured. “What happens here stays here.”

My heart pounded, but not from fear, but from something twisted and darker. Like curiosity, to explore my secret version.

“And rule two?” I asked.

"Rule two you ask?" Rosa smirked, a suspicious but playful one. "You will have to find out yourself."

I gave her a deadpan look which she dismissed with a wave of hand, and pulled me along with her.

•••

Time moved silently inside the club.

I wasn’t sure how long it had been—an hour, maybe two—but the music had softened into something heavier, slower. My head felt light, my body warm, the edges of everything blurred just enough to make the world feel unreal.

Tipsy.

Not drunk. Just… unsteady.

I spotted Rosa on the dance floor, her body pressed against a man I didn’t recognize. Too close. Too intimate. His hands rested confidently at her hips, her head tipped back in laughter as she moved with him like she didn’t have a care in the world.

Isn’t her boyfriend going to be mad?

The thought came uninvited.

I frowned slightly, then scoffed at myself.

Why do I even care?

I turned away.

My bladder chose that moment to remind me it existed. Urgently.

I stood from my seat slowly, the room tilting just a fraction beneath my heels. A waiter passed, and I caught his sleeve gently.

“Bathroom?” I asked.

He pointed upward. “Second floor.”

I thanked him and made my way toward the staircase, gripping the railing as I climbed. The further I went, the quieter it became. The music dulled into a distant pulse, like something heard through water.

The upper floor was dim, lit by soft red lights that barely lit the hallways. Door lines the corridor, some were slightly open, while others tightly shut.

I pushed open the nearest one that was slightly open, barely checking the number.

Inside, the light was even darker. Crimson and low. The room felt warm. Intimate. My vision swam as I stepped inside, my balance betraying me for half a second.

“Okay… okay,” I muttered to myself.

I found the bathroom tucked behind a half wall and slipped inside, locking the door behind me. The mirror reflected a version of myself I barely recognized, my eyes glossy, my cheeks flushed, lips parted like I’d been running.

I splashed cold water onto my face, breathing slowly until the haze eased.

Get it together, Zara.

After a moment, I dried my hands and stepped back out.

That was when I saw him.

A man sat on the edge of the bed, relaxed, one arm resting behind him like he owned the room. Masked. Dressed in black. Still.

He was watching me.

For a split second, I froze.

He spoke before I could say anything.

“Adreana,” he said calmly, certain. “You’re late.”

I blinked.

“I…” My head tilted slightly, confusion threading through the tipsiness. “I think you have the wrong person.”

He looked a bit surprised but didn’t look annoyed.

Instead, his gaze sharpened, assessing, slow, and deliberate.

He studied me in silence, then gestured casually toward him. “Come here.”

My body moved before my brain caught up.

I walked toward him slowly, each step cautious, aware of how close the air felt between us. He waited until I stopped just in front of him, close enough to feel his presence without touching.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Zara,” I said.

The name seemed to interest him. He repeated it softly, like he was testing how it sounded. “Zara.”

The way he said it made my stomach tighten.

“You’re not who I was expecting,” he said. Not accusing. Observing.

“I could say the same,” I replied, my voice quieter than I intended.

His mouth curved slightly beneath the mask. “You’re trembling.”

“I’m fine,” I lied.

He stood slowly, unhurried, bringing us eye to eye. He was taller than I’d realized, his presence filling the room effortlessly.

The red light painted him in shadow and heat.

“Then stay,” he said softly. “Just for a moment.”

I didn’t know why I didn’t leave.

I didn’t know why I stayed where I was, heart racing, pulse loud in my ears.

Maybe it was the mask.

Maybe it was the alcohol.

Or maybe it was the way the world outside that room suddenly felt very far away.

And the door was already closed.

He stopped just a breath away from me.

The space between us felt heavy, like the air had thickened. I could smell him through the club’s smoke and heat. My pulse thudded low and fast.

“You should leave,” he said quietly.

But he didn’t step back.

Neither did I.

“I know,” I whispered, my voice barely steady. “I should.”

His gaze dropped, not to my eyes, but lower to my cleavage, his lingering unapologetic.

“Yet you’re still here.”

Before I could respond, his hand lifted slow, hovering near my waist like he was giving me time to stop him.

But I didn’t, somehow I wanted it.

His fingers settled against my skin, warm and firm, pulling me closer just enough for my body to register his. My breath hitched as my chest brushed against his, the contact subtle but electric.

Too close.

Too intimate.

I looked up at him, my lips parting instinctively, and that was all it took.

He kissed me.

A slow, claiming press of his mouth against mine that stole the ground from beneath my feet. I melted into it before I could think better of it, my hands gripping the front of his jacket as if it were the only thing keeping me upright.

The kiss deepened, unhurried, exploratory. His hand slid along my back, fingers splaying, anchoring me there against him, with him. I felt the strength in his body, the control in the way he moved, as if every touch was intentional.

My body responded embarrassingly fast.

His palm curved over my side, thumb brushing dangerously close to the swell of my breast, the contact sending a sharp wave of heat through me. I gasped softly into his mouth, and he smiled slightly before kissing me again.

Faster this time.

Hungrier, rather.

My head spun. The room felt smaller, red light bleeding into shadows as my senses narrowed to him, his hands, his mouth, the way he made me feel seen and wanted without a single word.

He pulled back just enough for his forehead to rest against mine.

“You don’t know me,” he murmured.

“No,” I admitted, my voice unsteady. “But I want to.”

His thumb traced my jaw, intimate and possessive. “That makes this dangerous.”

I swallowed, my body still pressed to his, my heart racing for reasons I didn’t fully understand.

“Then don’t stop,” I whispered.

For a moment, he just looked at me like he was memorizing something he knew he shouldn’t touch.

Then his hand slid to the back of my neck, and he kissed me again.

And the rest of the world disappeared.