*Roanne’s POV*The mahogany shelves of the university library gave me comfort. I admired the knowledge they kept, guarding the hushed secrets whispered between their ancient tomes. I felt the weight of those secrets pressing against my chest as I traced the spine of a leather-bound book, its title embossed in gold, yet faded by time.The Revenge Club had been an intoxicating elixir, seducing me with the promise of justice and empowerment. But I wondered if the tasks escalated, so would the gnawing unease that feasted on my resolve. I wore a masquerade of control, but beneath the mask, doubt danced in the shadows."Ro?" Lizzie's voice sliced through the silence, her eyes probing mine with a mix of concern and camaraderie. "You've been quiet all morning."I glanced up, meeting the gaze of my best friend."Last night with Aaron," I began, the words spilling out in a whisper. "It wasn't just an assignment; it was… intimate, raw." My hands trembled slightly as I closed the book, the

*Roanne’s POV*The elegant suit composed by a pencil skirt and a very silky blouse, hung there, like a second skin, its emerald green hue a promise of lush secrets unfolding beneath. Intricate lace adorned its length, the threadwork an ode to the delicate dance that awaited me at The Velvet Room. Lizzie's deft fingers brushed against my skin as she helped me slip into the silkiness, her presence both comforting and conspiratorial."Roanne, you look..." Lizzie trailed off, her eyes wide with something akin to awe or perhaps envy."Like someone who doesn't belong," I breathed out, my nerves jangling like the fine gold chain I clasped around my neck. This wasn't just fabric draping my body; it was armor, fortifying me for the battle ahead. “Why would they have to dress all like this anyway?”"Stop," Lizzie snapped gently, her tone allowing no room for self-doubt. "You belong wherever you damn please. And just so you know, wearing elegant suits is also like armor, the better you dres

*Aaron’s POV*The Velvet Room loomed before me, its grandeur casting shadows. The street lights flickered, their dim glow. My fingers, steady despite the chill in the air, dialed Blake’s number, the familiar motions setting my pulse on a quicker march."Blake," I barked into the phone as soon as the line connected, my voice cutting through the night's stillness with an edge sharpened by frustration. "I need you to dig up everything you can on Michael Morgan."On the other end, a pause, then Blake's voice, calm, measured, the sound of reliability itself. "Michael Morgan? The rich kid who’s been circling the club?""Exactly him. There's something off about the guy." I paced, restless energy coursing through me. The sleek surface of the club's door reflected a distorted image of my tense form back at me. "I want his dirty laundry, Blake. And I want it yesterday.""Consider it done, Aaron," Blake replied, his assurance slicing through my escalating tension. "I'll get you what you ne

*Roanne’s POV*It didn’t happen, that is what he wanted me to believe. My body was feverish yet he wanted to forget what he just did.The warmth of his embrace and touch was still a tangible presence around me, when a rap at the door shattered the fragile shield Aaron had shared. He stiffened, and with a last glance at me, he disentangled himself from our tangle of limbs and crossed the room to answer."Blake," he said tersely as he swung the door open. The scent of roasted coffee beans wafted into the room, and there stood Blake, his hands cradling the lifeline of caffeine and pain relief. His solemn nod toward me suggested this was more than a mere courtesy call."Brought what you asked," Blake said to Aaron, holding out the steaming cup and a small bottle of aspirin. Looking beyond him, I saw no traces of the early morning light; the world outside felt as distant as my grasp on the events that led to this moment."Thanks." My voice was a hoarse whisper, but it carried the wei

*Aaron’s POV*The room hummed with a clandestine electricity, the glow of multiple screens casting a spectral dance across Jake's face as he hunched over the keyboard. The hacker I enlisted was a ghost in the machine, fingers flying over keys with a deft urgency."Got anything?" My voice cut through the buzzing silence, a note of impatience betraying my calm exterior."Initial sweep's done," Jake murmured, eyes not leaving the screen. "There's a trail, but it's murky—like wading through a swamp of shell companies and dead-ends.""Show me." I moved closer, the scent of stale coffee and cold ambition mingling in the charged air. The data on the screen flickered like a morse code of secrets, each byte a breadcrumb leading to Violet's enigmatic past.Jake pointed at clusters of information, his explanation terse. "Family ties are complex. Seems every strand leads back to Europe—some serious money, potentially dirty.""Potentially?" My gaze hardened as I scanned the encrypted data,