Chapter 1 The Devil

• The bass from the nightclub thumped through Amara’s body as she balanced the tray of drinks on one hand, weaving her way through the sea of people. The flashing neon lights overhead painted the room in hues of red and gold, but to Amara, it was just another night at Luxe Inferno. Another night of fake smiles and biting back her pride as she served overpriced cocktails to men who treated her like she was invisible—or worse, like she was for sale.
• She dropped off her last order of the night, her feet aching in the cheap heels she’d been wearing for far too long. The dream she’d carried with her to this city—that she’d somehow claw her way out of this mess—felt like it was slipping further away with every shift.
• “Amara!” her manager barked from across the bar, startling her. “VIP table needs attention. Now!”
• She rolled her eyes, exhaling a frustrated sigh. VIPs usually meant arrogant men with too much money and too little respect. Adjusting her tray, she plastered on a professional smile and turned toward the private section.
• Then she saw him.
• Sitting at the center of the VIP booth was a man who exuded power. His tailored black suit fit him perfectly, the fabric hugging his broad shoulders and lean frame. His dark hair was slicked back, and his piercing gray eyes scanned the room with an air of detachment, as though nothing could impress him. He was surrounded by people—men and women clamoring for his attention—but he seemed completely uninterested.
• Amara’s stomach twisted. She didn’t know why, but something about him set her on edge. Still, she had a job to do. She approached the table, keeping her head high and her expression neutral.
• “Good evening,” she said, her voice steady despite her nerves. “Can I get you anything?”
• The man’s gaze shifted to her, and for a moment, she felt like he could see right through her. Like he knew every secret, every fear she was trying to hide.
• “Whiskey,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Neat.”
• She nodded and turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.
• “Wait.”
• Amara turned back, meeting his gaze. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to place her.
• “What’s your name?” he asked.
• “Amara,” she replied, her voice clipped. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her—like she was a puzzle he was trying to solve.
• “Amara,” he repeated, tasting her name like it was a fine wine. “Interesting.”
• She didn’t respond, retreating quickly to the bar to prepare his drink. Her hands shook slightly as she poured the whiskey, annoyed at herself for letting a stranger unsettle her.
• When she returned to the VIP table, he was still watching her, his expression unreadable. She set the glass down in front of him and was about to leave again when he spoke.
• “How long have you been working here?”
• “Not long,” she said, keeping her answers short. She didn’t owe him anything.
• He smirked, as though amused by her defiance. “And what brought you here, Amara? To this city, to this... place?”
• She bristled at his tone. “That’s none of your business,” she said before she could stop herself.
• The men around him exchanged surprised glances, but he just chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “Fair enough,” he said, lifting his glass in a mock toast. “To secrets, then.”
• Amara turned on her heel and walked away, her cheeks burning. She didn’t see him slip a card into the pocket of her apron.
• Later that night, as Amara was clocking out, she found the card. It was sleek and black, with only a name and a phone number embossed in silver.
• Damian Volkov.
• The name sent a shiver down her spine. She’d heard it before, whispered in hushed tones by her coworkers. He was a billionaire, a man who owned half the city and had the other half in his pocket. People said he was ruthless, that he got what he wanted no matter the cost.
• Amara stared at the card, torn. She didn’t trust men like him, men who thought the world owed them everything. But the tiny voice in the back of her head whispered that this could be her chance. A way out of the nightclub, out of the dead-end life she’d fallen into.
• She shoved the card into her bag and left without a second thought. But as she walked home through the dimly lit streets, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her life was about to change—and not necessarily for the better.