Chapter 3

The club pulsed with life, a living beast of bass and light. Bodies pressed together on the dance floor, moving as though the music owned them, sweat and perfume mixing in the thick air.

Elena felt it seep into her veins the moment she walked in.

The rhythm, the chaos, the anonymity.

Here, she wasn’t the Sinclair heiress, the pawn in her father’s empire. Here, she was fire and flesh, untouchable and unseen.

Jace leaned in close, shouting over the music. “Drink first or dance first?”

“Both,” she smirked, already sliding past him toward the bar.

She wanted the burn of liquor in her throat, the way it erased edges, the way it reminded her she was alive.

Her hips swayed to the beat without conscious thought, her body moving like it had been waiting all night for this release.

People turned, eyes catching on her, curiosity sparking, but she didn’t care.

None of them knew the girl beneath the leather, the one who could crack a server’s firewall in under an hour or hunt a man through back alleys like prey.

She lifted her glass, the liquid golden under the lights. To freedom, she thought, lips curving around the rim before she drank deep.

And across the room, unseen, another glass lifted.

Roman Thorne sat in the club’s private lounge, shadows cloaking him like a second skin.

He hadn’t planned on being here, his men had insisted after another endless meeting, dragging him into the noise of the night to bleed out stress.

He hadn’t wanted the music or the chaos. But something, someone, had caught his eye.

A woman.

Not polished and plastic like the women who usually circled his orbit.

This one was fire contained in human form, her every movement a dare. There was danger in her smile, rebellion in her eyes. She didn’t belong here, yet she owned the space with every step.

Roman’s jaw tightened. His men laughed and drank around him, but he barely heard them. He leaned forward, watching her as though she were the only light in the room.

He didn’t know her name. Didn’t know that the woman dancing like sin itself belonged to him already, signed away on a contract sealed with power and blood.

He didn’t know she was his bride to be.

And Elena, oh, Elena knew exactly who he was.

The moment her gaze brushed the private lounge, when the shadows shifted and revealed the hard lines of his face, recognition struck like a blade.

Roman Thorne.

The man who thought he would own her.

The man her father wanted to chain her to.

He looked nothing like the glossy photos she’d seen in business magazines. In person, he was sharper, darker, more dangerous. And utterly, undeniably watching her.

Her pulse quickened, but not with fear. With defiance.

She tipped her glass toward him in a silent toast, her lips curling into a smile that dared him to come closer.

Roman’s eyes narrowed, his glass pausing midair.

The music swelled, drowning out everything but the charged silence between them.

Neither of them moved.

The beat pounded through the club, but Elena barely heard it anymore. Not with his eyes on her.

Roman Thorne.

He sat like a king in his dark corner, the world orbiting him while he remained unmoved.

Even from here, she could feel it, the weight of his presence, the raw authority he carried like a blade. It was in the way men leaned closer when he spoke, the way women drifted toward him without thought, the way silence followed him even in the middle of chaos.

And those eyes, storm gray, locked on her like she was a challenge he intended to conquer.

Elena lifted her glass to her lips, slow, deliberate. She knew he was watching. She wanted him to.

“You’re playing with fire,” Jace murmured at her side, his grin wicked. “That man screams trouble.”

“That man screams control,” Elena replied smoothly. “And I don’t like being controlled.”

Her friend barked out a laugh, clinking his glass against hers. “God, I love watching you work.”

She didn’t answer. Because at that moment, Roman Thorne stood.

The crowd shifted without realizing it, like water parting for a stone.

He moved through the room with lethal grace, his men trailing at a respectful distance.

No one dared brush against him. No one dared stop him.

And he was coming straight for her.

Elena’s pulse raced, but she forced her body into stillness, her expression unreadable. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her falter.

He stopped before her, towering, his presence wrapping around her like smoke.

Up close, he was even worse than the magazines, sharp cheekbones, broad shoulders, the faintest scar cutting along his jaw. His suit was black, tailored to perfection, but his aura was raw, untamed power.

“What’s your name?” His voice was deep, threaded with command. Not a question, an order.

Elena arched one brow, sipping her drink without breaking eye contact. “Does it matter?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “It does when I ask.”

She let the silence stretch, watching the flicker of irritation cross his features. Then, with the sweetest smile, she leaned closer just enough for her perfume to curl between them.

“Names are earned,” she said softly, her voice sharp as a blade. “Not handed out to strangers who think they own the room.”

Behind her, Jace nearly choked on his drink.

Roman’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening. He wasn’t used to this, women usually melted under his gaze, stumbled over themselves to please him. This one? This woman looked at him like he was just another man at the bar.

He studied her, the defiance glittering in her eyes, the daring tilt of her chin. Something hot and unfamiliar coiled low in his chest.

“You’ve got a sharp tongue,” he murmured.

“And you’ve got ears,” Elena shot back sweetly. “So I guess we both have something.”

Jace was openly laughing now, but Elena didn’t care. This was her game. If Roman thought he could intimidate her into submission, he was in for a rude awakening.

Roman leaned closer, his voice dropping low, intimate. “Careful, little one. You might bite off more than you can chew.”

Her smile widened, pure defiance, pure fire. “Funny. I was about to say the same to you.”