Chapter 3

• The second I stepped across the threshold of Room 9, the heavy oak door clicked shut behind me, and the air instantly thickened like smoke.
• Sitting on the plush black leather couch in the center of the dim, shadow-drenched suite—looking like he owned the entire building, no, like he owned the whole damn city—was Joaquin De Cadejaz.
• The ruthless CEO. The man my father had cursed in every private, closed-door meeting we ever had at the mansion. He was the cold, untouchable billionaire I had seen from afar across crowded gala halls and exclusive charity events, always standing aloof, always watching everyone around him like they were nothing more than prey waiting to be dismantled.
• Now, he was here. In this filthy, subterranean club. He sat with his legs spread casually, one expensive leather shoe resting over his knee, one long arm draped lazily over the back of the couch. His dark, stormy gray eyes were already locked on me, burning with an unnerving, suffocating intensity that pinned me to the floor.
• My stomach violently dropped, a cold weight crashing straight into my gut. Why is he here? What does he want?
• The panic threatened to choke me, but I ruthlessly shoved it down. I forced a low, mocking laugh to rip from my throat, closing the door behind me with far more force than necessary. The black lace mask resting against my skin gave me a surge of reckless courage I didn't fully feel. To him, I was just a dancer. He couldn't see my face. He didn't know.
• “Wow,” I said, “The great, untouchable Joaquin De Cadejaz. I have to admit, I’m shocked. Even a heartless, ice-cold billionaire needs to crawl into a rotting place like this just to get his dick wet? How utterly pathetic.”
• I kept my stride slow, my hips swaying slightly out of sheer, practiced habit, letting the silk robe slip open just a fraction—just enough to tease, just enough to play the part of the fearless siren. I needed him to think I was just another cocky stripper.
• “No matter how many billions you have sitting in the bank, no matter how ruthless and powerful you pretend to be to the media…” I stopped a few feet from the couch, crossing my arms and looking down at him with a sneer. “At the end of the day, you’re still just another desperate man hungry for warm, cheap flesh. Disgusting.”
• Joaquin didn’t look insulted in the slightest. He didn't even blink. Instead, a slow, dangerously beautiful smirk curved his lips, sending a chilling jolt of electricity straight down my spine. He rose from the couch. He casually unbuttoned his charcoal suit jacket, his chest expanding as he moved deliberately toward me.
• “I didn’t know,” he murmured, carrying a terrifying weight that seemed to suck the oxygen right out of the room, “that the proud, pristine Aduello heiress had fallen this low. Dancing half-naked on a sticky stage every night… wearing nothing but pathetic scraps of fabric and a cheap little lace mask, selling herself to a crowd of hungry eyes for pocket change.”
• My world completely stopped spinning. My blood drained from my face so fast my vision went momentarily dark. My breath caught violently in my throat, choking me. My knees went entirely weak, turning into liquid. Instinct took over, and I took a frantic, involuntary step back, my spine hitting the hard wood of the closed door with a dull rattle.
• He knew.
• He fucking knew exactly who I was.
• How? My mind screamed, thrashing in a frantic, wild panic. I had changed my name. I had hidden my tracks. I had worn that mask from the very first second I ever walked into this building.
• Joaquin didn't stop until he was standing just inches away from me. His presence was a physical force—suffocating, dominating, and absolute.
• “You—” My voice cracked, forcing a layer of broken steel back into my words. “You’re mistaken. You have the wrong girl. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Mr. De Cadejaz.”
• He chuckled softly, a low, dark, and intimately dangerous sound that vibrated against my chest. He raised one long, elegant hand, his fingers lightly tracing the delicate lace edge of my mask. He didn't remove it. He just mapped the contour of my hidden face, his touch agonizingly slow.
• “I’ve been watching you for weeks, Rox,” he whispered. “Every single night you climb that stage… you get bolder. More sensual. The way you arch your back against the pole, the way your hips roll to the bass, how you look at the crowd like you want to devour them and destroy them at the exact same time… it’s mesmerizing.”
• His lips brushed against the shell of my ear, his breath hot against my freezing skin. “You’re getting better at it, little heiress. And I’ve enjoyed every single second of your performances.”
• A violent, uncontrollable shiver ran down my spine. The humiliation of knowing he had seen me move like that, that he had parsed through my desperate survival mechanism and enjoyed it, made my blood boil.
• I placed both of my palms flat against his broad chest and shoved with all the strength I had left. “Get the hell away from me! I don’t need your sick, twisted attention!”
• He didn't budge an inch. It was like pushing against a solid brick wall. Instead, Joaquin caught my right wrist in a lightning-fast, iron grip. Before I could even register the movement, he pinned it firmly against the wooden door right above my head. It wasn’t painful—he wasn't trying to break me—but it was unyielding. Controlling. An unspoken reminder of exactly who held all the cards.
• “Your father is dead,” he said. “Murdered in cold blood on the floor of his own study. I know you were there that night, Roxanne. I know you vanished into the dark while your mansion burned. Did you see their faces? Did you see who pulled the trigger on Rafael Aduello?”
• My eyes stung with sudden, hot tears. The mention of my father shattered the fragile wall I had built around my heart. In a terrifying flash, the memory played behind my eyelids
• “I saw nothing,” I lied through gritted teeth, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. “It was dark. Just masks. Just blood. Just monsters.”
• Joaquin studied my face. He looked like he could see right through the lace, right through the armor, and straight into my fractured soul. Slowly, his thumb brushed over the delicate skin on the inside of my pinned wrist, deliberately feeling the erratic, wild racing of my pulse.
• “Why are you doing this to yourself?” he asked. “Hiding in a place like this. Letting disgusting, low-life syndicate dogs stare at your body. Selling pieces of your dignity every single night just to buy a day of survival. You’re an Aduello, Roxanne. You were raised in palaces. You were meant for more than this absolute filth.”
• A bitter, volatile laugh ripped from my chest, cutting through the heavy silence of the room even as the tears finally threatened to spill over.
• “Meant for more?!” I spat, glaring up at him with pure hatred. “Look where that palace got my father! He is dead because of the corrupt, bloody world he dragged me into! This is how I survive now. This is the only way I can stay close to the ground, the only way I can hunt for the people who destroyed my entire life. I don't want your pity, De Cadejaz. And I definitely don't need your goddamn protection.”
• He leaned in even closer, his shadow completely swallowing me, his lips hovering mere millimeters from my ear. “Come with me,” he whispered. “Leave this club tonight. I have places where nobody can touch you. You’ll be safe. You won’t ever have to dance for these starving, pathetic men downstairs ever again. I can give you everything you need.”
• For one brief second, the sheer weight of his offer tempted me. Safety. Real security. Warmth. No more cold, damp apartment floors. No more nights of feeling dirty, exposed, and hunted. I could just let go. But then, the reality of who he was hit me like a slap to the face. He was a predator. A man who only collected assets. If I went with him, I would just be trading one cage for another.
• “No,” I said, “I am not going anywhere with you. I have my own mission, my own debts to collect. I don’t need a billionaire playing savior in a designer suit. Go back to your corporate empire and your high-rise boardrooms, Joaquin. And leave me the hell alone.”
• Joaquin’s eyes darkened completely, the stormy gray turning into the color of a midnight sky right before a tempest hits.
• He didn't speak.
• He simply stepped forward again, closing the distance between us in a fraction of a second, caging my body against the hard wood of the door once more. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low whisper that sent a thrill of pure terror straight to my core.
• “You saw something very specific that night, Roxanne. Something you're looking for every time you look at a man's neck.”
• My heart slammed so violently against my ribs I thought it would shatter. I froze, my breath completely halting in my throat.
• How could he possibly know that?
• “And I can help you find the men who killed your father…” he murmured, his lips lingering against my skin, a dark, lethal promise vibrating through his words, “if you let me own your soul and shadows.”