Chapter 1

*Rowan*

Steam coiled around me, soft and ghostly. I streaked my hand across the glazed mirror, clearing a window through the fog that hid me from myself. The hot shower exhaled from my skin, warmth still clinging to me like a second layer. Behind my reflection, clothes laid scattered across the marbled tiles — a quiet mess, a reflection of my cluttered thoughts. To the left, the shower still dripped and to the right, my drop-in bathtub waited for my return as a purple loofah rested neatly on the edge, as if untouched by the chaos around it. I looked a bit leaner than usual as a thin sheen of body oil captured the light across my frame. I ran a comb through my straight brown hair, letting it air-dry before twisting it into a man bun, but tonight was a little different as I let a few strands fall freely from my temples, framing my face, softening the edges.

A small change. Maybe a needed one.

I met my own eyes in the mirror — emerald green, intense, unwilling to look away.

You could get through this. You’re charming. You’re pretty. It was all for you— or was it?

I slipped my arms through the suit; it felt almost like a second skin: soft, smooth, and fit just right. The brand name was “Bijan Pakzad”. A common brand used for such events, a name I wasn’t particularly familiar with. I straightened myself out, relaxing the growing tension as I walked through the long hallway, its white walls glowed under the jagged spill of fancy lighting. Exotic flowers bloomed from relic vases, arranged with careful elegance. Everything around me whispered wealth, like it was trying to impress me — or remind me. Piano music reached my ears, growing louder with each step, a reminder that the night was still young. Beneath the sound, voices rose — the low hum of conversations, laughter and glasses clinking. I slowed as I reached the top of a long staircase, pausing as if its been waiting for me, and at the bottom, so do all my guests.

Five years later, and I still didn’t think I’d ever get used to this. But here I was.

Swiftly, I was pulled back — a sudden flush of warmth rushed to my cheeks, my hands, my lips ... my everywhere. It was him. Brantlee. I knew those lips — soft, but not too soft — and they sent shockwaves through me, lighting every nerve and flooded my face with heat. In the serene moment of excitement, I opened my eyes and there he was — the freckled bridge of his nose, those pearly grey eyes fixed on me full of hunger — and perhaps possessing an amorous gaze, too.

Everything about him was perfect.

His mouth curled into a blushed smile, canines sharp and showing. “I thought you needed that,” he said, voice low and still thick with intent.

Aside from being perfect in every damn way, the most dangerous thing about Brantlee was that he actually knew me — and cared enough to show it. That was hotter, and more maddening, than anything else. I wanted to rip off my clothes and throw myself at him, tease him until he begged, let the wild creature inside me claw its way out. And so I moved in close, backing him into the wall. My hand slid down between us as my fingers grazed the hardness beneath his pants.

My lips claimed his. “You know me so well,” I whispered against his mouth.

The hunger was fulminating. Mutual. Predatory. But it couldn’t go any further — not tonight. Still, his plan worked and it killed the nerves.

I stepped away as he caught my wrist. “I know the snake is waiting for you downstairs,” he said softly. “If you need me — I’m here,” he assured.

I nodded, and turned towards the staircase once again as I straightened out my suit and resumed to walk down to greet a room full of rich people I had no interest in knowing.

Victoria caught me in her glance. Her eyes — the most intimidating thing about her — were like black voids, pulling you in whether you wanted to or not.

“Oh, Rowan, darling! About time you honored your guests with your presence,” she said, her tone sugar-dipped and laced with venom.

Her smile, painted perfectly in red, masked whatever she was actually feeling.

“Prudence, this is Rowan,” she added, passing me off like a party favor to a redhead in pearls — pearls that looked like they were choking her, though I was sure they cost more than the car I got for my Birthday.

I flashed a quick smile. “Apologies — I just wanted to make sure my guests, Prudence, met the best version of me.” The words tasted like poison. I almost gagged.

Prudence’s cheeks flushed. “Don’t apologize,” she purred. “He is quite handsome, Victoria,” she praised. Biting her lips like I was a burger made special just for her.

Victoria pretzel’d me into her icy white arms. “I’m so glad you two got introduced. Prudence is a confrère — a dear one.” She’d taken Prudence’s hand with just enough grace to remind her who’s in charge. “Enjoy yourself,” she threatened.

Victoria turned back to me, eyes scanning. “It seems you’ve outdone yourself. Is that a new hairstyle?” she complimented, caressing the strands of hair at my temples.

I winced at her touching. “I thought I’d change it up a bit.”

A sly smile tugged at her lips. “Next time, play it down. She was far too excited,” she scoffed.

I smirked. “Next time, maybe don’t invite her over.”

Dozens of strangers flicked past my vision as we moved from room to room, each space dressed in its own decorative theme and filled with expensive antiques. Large traveler palm plants stood in aged white vases, posted like silent sentries in the corners of the main lobby. The skylight above poured down natural light, drawing out the vibrant green of their leaves, like the plants had been coached to perform too.

The mansion still clung to its historic architecture, though now dressed in modern convenience — discreet electrical wiring and cleverly hidden tech. A balance of old-world charm and curated luxury. Most of the guests that passed through my gaze were older — moneyed men and women, some trailed by their uptight, toffee-nosed children. I caught myself estimating net worths like currency was written into their wrinkles, their silk, their posture. How many millions and billions separated each of them from the next? There was always a quiet war here — a battle for dominance built on generational wealth and polished arrogance. But few could rival ours.

And that, of course, was the entire point of this party.

Victoria and I finally reached the back patio. The scent of grilled Kobe beef hit me before I stepped outside, awakening something primal in my senses. Old-fashioned string lights spiraled up the mansion’s columns and swung between the beams of the outdoor bar, casting a warm glow. Five grills blaze in the corner, manned by chefs only the wealthiest could afford. Candles flickered around the saltwater pool, dancing with people’s footsteps as the moon reflected across the waters shimmering teal surface.