Semua Bab Velvet Chains: Bab 1 - Bab 10

The bass beat pounded like a heartbeat beneath the crimson brocade shadows of *The Crimson Room*. Smoke drifted along the darkened room, weaving with perfume, sweat, and decadence. Valerio Moretti leaned in the back of the VIP club, his hand wrapped around a glass of black whiskey, unmoving.Partygoers were around him, society's elite losing themselves in excess as if they had no fear of death. Which was appropriate.They did not know that he was there.Valerio was death in a specially tailored suit. No one breathed in that club without his permission. The owner knew it. The girls knew it. Even the bartender handed him his drinks without meeting his gaze.And yet…His gaze did not leave the stage.A new girl had appeared in the limelight.She did not dance like them. Did not stalk, did not strike. She was frozen in place for a moment too long, blinking in the blinding light as though she didn't belong there. Her trembling fingers twitched ever so little at her hips, and when the music

Valerio Moretti hated waiting.He loathed being told no.And he sure as hell didn't appreciate the fact that ever since the evening he had the nerve to set foot in her dressing room, Sera Devlin had been taking up space inside his head like a forbidden prayer he couldn't suppress.She was hardly the prettiest woman he'd ever seen. But she was the most *untouched*. Even when she danced half-naked in front of drunk, salivating men, there was something about her that stayed locked away, behind those big, suspicious eyes.And he wanted to be the one to break that lock.To *own* whatever it was she kept hidden.He had not been able to get the image out of his head of how her breath caught as she had kicked him out.The manner in which she looked at him—not with fear, but with fire.Tonight, he needed more.He walked along the blood-red hallway of the nightclub with two of his guards. As ever, the door swinging open behind him shifted the mood. Bartenders straightened aprons and spat toothp

Sera could feel him.Not see him. Not hear him.But *feel* him.There were nights, when she stepped out onto the stage, the weight of his eyes hit her like a flame, blistering down the length of her back.He never made himself seen.Never returned to her dressing room. Never requested her in secret again.But he was always there.In the shadows. In the VIP room. In the smoky rooms of the club where men of power lounged like gods.*Watching.*Sera hated the way her body responded to it. The way the thought of his dark eyes watching her every step made her feel a pulse between her thighs.She danced for the paycheck.She danced for her brother.But when Valerio Moretti was around, she danced with an edge sharper than survival.She danced like rebellion.And she could sense—it only made him desire her more.The first gift arrived three nights later.A black velvet box, smooth, fit neatly into her locker after work. Inside: a diamond choker, icy and sparkling like frost on a winter sword.

The dressing room was silent, dark.The other girls had already left for the night, their heels echoing down the hall, their perfume lingering like ghosts. Sera sat alone in front of the mirror, removing her makeup in slow, tired strokes. Her lashes fluttered, smudges of eyeliner staining her cheeks like war paint.She didn't gaze at her reflection anymore.She gazed at the past.The way it coiled around her neck in quiet moments. The way it slid into her chest and tightened until she forgot how to breathe.And tonight—after Valerio's whispered obscenities in the hallway, the heat of his breath on her ear, the way he didn't touch her—but could have?It all came rushing back.**The first man to touch her without her permission was when she was fifteen.**The sun had already set behind the red roofs of the trailer park. Her little brother Ezra was asleep on the sofa after another asthma attack. Her mother was working the late shift again, which really meant she'd be stumbling home drunk

The club pulsed with the strobe of red lights and thick bass, bodies crowded against one another in smoke and lust. But Sera was not on stage tonight—not before the catcalls of the crowd, not before the glare that reduced every dancer to a product.No. Tonight the rules had changed.Tonight, she was dancing for *one* man, alone.And she hadn't agreed to it."Sera," Carmen spat across the bar, dark eyes bulging. "He bought out the whole goddamn VIP room. Said he'd double what you make in a week.""I didn't consent," Sera growled, arms clamped around her chest."You actually think that's going to count? You think anyone ever says no to Valerio Moretti?"Sera's back bristled at the mention of his name.*The devil in designer black. The man who whispered ugliness without so much as a touch.*He had darkness for eyes and lips like sins soaked in promises. And he *wanted her*. Not the Ice Queen. Not the fantasy.*Her.*And that was what scared her.But curiosity had burned hotter than fear