Chapter 1 — "His Eyes Found Me First"
I was adopted not for love—but for leverage.
And the day I ran from the mafia boss, I made myself his unfinished business.
I never asked for revenge.
But the day I found my deaf mother tied to the wall, her throat bleeding beneath a silver knife…
something inside me snapped.
That's when I realized: blood wasn't thicker than betrayal—it was the payment for it.
Two Years Later —
The club pulsed with low lights and dangerous music. Lust hung in the air, blending with smoke and the scent of power. I shouldn't be here. Not after what happened. But revenge never knocks politely. It breaks down doors.
I adjusted the black velvet tray in my hand and stepped deeper into the lounge. My heels felt like blades slicing through my balance. The silk dress they forced me into barely covered my thighs, and the neckline dipped like it owed gravity a favor.
I told myself it was just a job. Just a disguise.
But the moment my eyes brushed against him—
the moment his cold stare locked onto mine across the smoky room—
I knew…
He remembered me.
I hadn't seen him in years.
Not since the fire.
Not since I ran.
Not since I saw my mother's body dragged across marble, her eyes screaming louder than her throat ever could.
The mafia boss.
My adoptive mother's tormentor.
And now the man whose empire I was about to crawl into… with poison in my veins and a plan stitched behind my smile.
I slipped through the crowd with the tray in hand, head bowed. Fake lashes, deeper makeup, a fake name. Everything about me was plastic tonight—except my rage.
My eyes flicked to the VIP lounge. There, seated like a king sculpted from shadows, was him.
He hadn't aged.
If anything, he'd become sharper. Stronger. More terrifying.
Black shirt, unbuttoned at the neck. Tattoos like stories written in war. Eyes that could undress a soul and dig up your sins without asking.
He was watching me.
Not blinking.
Like he'd known I'd walk through that door.
Like he'd been waiting.
"Hey," a low voice whispered beside me. "What the hell are you doing?"
It was Pisham.
His friend.
And now, mine.
Well—sort of. He didn't know I was here to ruin his boss.
Didn't know I used his kindness like a key to unlock this job.
Didn't know I kissed him once, just to keep him loyal.
He grabbed my elbow. "You shouldn't be here tonight. He's not… stable."
I smirked like I didn't care, but my chest throbbed. "Too late. I'm already on shift."
Pisham's jaw clenched. "He asked for you specifically."
My skin went cold. "What?"
He leaned closer. "You heard me. He told the manager to send you. He saw your name on the list."
But that's impossible. He didn't know my fake name.
Didn't know this new face.
Didn't—
Unless…
He remembered my eyes.
I turned away fast, but it was too late.
He stood.
Six foot something of danger, dominance, and death.
The crowd parted for him like the sea. Not because they feared him.
Because they worshiped him.
He walked toward me, slow, deliberate. His gaze never left mine.
I wanted to run.
Scream.
Spit at him.
But my legs betrayed me.
"New waitress?" he asked, voice deep like sin wrapped in silk.
I nodded.
He stepped closer.
So close I could smell the faint trace of cigar and something darker. Older.
His eyes roamed over my face like he was reading a memory. "You don't blink when I look at you. Most girls do."
I swallowed hard. "I'm not most girls."
A slow, wicked smile curled on his lips. "No. You're not."
The tray trembled in my hand, so I shifted it to my other. But he noticed. Of course he did.
He leaned in, whispering low.
"Your eyes… they remind me of a girl I knew. A long time ago."
I met his gaze. "Did she survive you?"
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. Only a growl beneath the surface. "No one really survives me."
A chill slithered down my spine.
"I want you on bottle duty tonight," he said. "In my lounge."
I hesitated.
He noticed that too.
"You're not afraid of me?" he asked.
I lied. "No."
He tilted his head. "Liar."
Then he turned and walked away, not bothering to check if I followed.
But I did.
Inside the lounge, the lights dimmed even lower.
Only his silhouette lit by the gold gleam of whiskey and firelight.
He didn't speak for a while. Just sipped his drink, eyes burning holes through me.
Finally, he stood again. Walked toward me.
"I've changed," he said quietly.
I didn't respond.
He stepped closer.
"You've changed too. Your face… different. But your anger still smells the same."
My throat dried. "You're mistaking me for someone else."
He smiled.
But it wasn't kind.
It was the smile of a predator who knows his prey.
"You ever hear the story of a girl who tried to burn me down?" he said. "She thought revenge made her untouchable."
"And?" I asked.
"She screamed when I found her."
My breath caught.
He leaned in again, whisper against my cheek.
"Run again… and I'll find you slower this time."
That night, when I got home, my hands were shaking.
I peeled the dress off and stared at myself in the mirror. Lipstick smeared. Bruise on my wrist from where he touched me too hard.
But my eyes… they burned.
I looked like her.
Like the girl from two years ago.
The one who watched her mother bleed.
The one who vowed she'd never let the man who did it sleep peacefully again.
And now… I was in his club. In his lounge. In his line of sight.
Exactly where I needed to be.
Let the game begin.
[END OF CHAPTER 1 ]