Kai's POV:

I'm Kai Hunter. People call me "King Hunter." But only I know how filthy the things I've done really are.

Last week, I was dealing with a traitor when I saw her.

Unlike most women,she didn't scream when she saw stuff like this. Instead, she slammed both hands over her mouth.

But what really impressed me were her striking ocean-blue eyes.

Then she ran. We tore the city apart, but she vanished without a trace.

Interesting. That was a first—someone slipping away right under our noses.

I made up my mind then. I'd turn this whole city upside down if I had to. I was going to find her.

Luca, that sleazy fox, had called me again to one of those clubs to talk "business."

But this time, something was different.

She was there. That interesting girl.

The same one who watched me dump a body, nearly passed out, but still found the strength to run.

At the club, while every other girl was practically selling drinks in their underwear, she showed up wrapped tighter than a winter coat.

And her makeup? It was heavy and hideous.

But even with all that ridiculous makeup caked on, I recognized her. I’d know those eyes anywhere.

Her reaction when she saw me? Still amusing.

Terrified. But pretending to be calm. Acting brave when her whole body was screaming otherwise.

Luca was still the same idiot. Always got some girl on his arm, but could never do anything real. I gave him chance after chance, and he still couldn't even secure a dump like Eastbrook.

Pathetic.

Even the drinks there were garbage. I took one sip and put the glass down in disgust.

Then I heard Luca yell, "Ugly freak!" at her.

Yeah, that makeup did her no favors. But the way she pointed at herself in pure confusion—like she couldn't believe he meant her—was just... dumb and kind of funny.

You know what I hate most?

Betrayal.

Joe thought he could spy on me.

So, I took his ear. Fair price.

Then that kitten walked in.

Bad timing.

Her face, caked in that heavy, ugly makeup, went pale. Her freaked-out eyes locked on the mess. She shook so hard I thought she might collapse.

And for some reason... I got curious.

I pressed my knife against her shoulder. She was so scared her eyes filled with tears. She must've thought I was going to kill her.

Hilarious. I don't kill people on a whim.

Her down jacket was cheap. One swipe and it split open like paper.

I pressed down on her shoulder, feeling just how badly she was shaking.

But I wasn't finished.

I cut again—this time cutting through her strap.

That's when I saw it. A small blue butterfly tattoo, wings frozen mid-flight.

Delicate skin. Blue ink.

My breathing suddenly hitched.

Something about that butterfly lit me up. The more my knife traced it, the more out of control I felt.

It was like a high. Like I was hooked.

Eventually, I let her go.

If I hadn't, I might've scared her to death.

She broke down crying—face streaked, makeup ruined. Tears turned her foundation into sludge and smeared her eyeliner into black rivers. But those blue eyes? They only got brighter. Her wet lashes trembled like they were one blink away from breaking.

And in that moment, I wanted her.

I wanted to pull her into my arms and never let go.

She must've sensed it. Clutching the money, she bolted.

I lit a cigarette, casually watching through the smoke as she bolted like a spooked deer and ran straight for the jukebox.

My eyes lingered on her back—the way she moved, all serious and focused.

This woman... she's something else.

I want her.

Kayless' POV:

Top floor of the club.

Matthew Everett's private office.

I had been standing in front of the heavy wooden door for what felt like forever.

When I was a kid, I used to find comfort behind that door. After a nightmare, I'd cling to Matthew, begging him not to leave for work.

To the outside world, Matthew Everett is a cold, ruthless man. The kind of club owner who values profit over people. No one dares to disrespect him.

No one but me.

I'm his adopted niece—fourteen years younger—and somehow, I've always been the exception.

He could never say no to me. He'd just sigh, give in, and take me with him to the club.

After work, he'd wake me up with the gentlest voice, always beating my morning grumpiness by slipping candy or pastries into my mouth before I could protest. Sometimes it was fruit—sweet and tangy—and then he'd carry me home in his strong arms, like it was nothing.

Our relationship...

It's complicated. Twisted. I depended on him in a way I can’t even explain.

My palm was damp from how tightly I was clenching my fist. I finally worked up the nerve and gripped the cold brass doorknob.

As I turned it, I heard a soft click—and almost immediately, his deep, familiar voice.

"Kay?"

He always knew it was me.

"Yeah," I said, my throat too dry to say more.

I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Matthew sat in the center of the room, in a wide black leather chair.

Behind him, the city lights glowed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He wore half-rimmed gold glasses—no lenses, just for show.

Between his fingers was a half-smoked cigar, its exotic scent curling through the air. Not harsh, just faintly intoxicating.

Matthew Everett. Thirty-two years old. The youngest and most cunning club owner in the city. With a face like his, he could've ruled runways, but instead, he ran an empire.in his own dark world.

He moved with the calm confidence of a man who knew exactly how powerful he was. Sophisticated. Distant. Untouchable.

Before I met Mr. Hunter, I thought Matthew was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen.

I stepped forward quickly and placed a neat stack of bills on his desk, pulling out my small debt notebook to log the numbers.

"Uncle Matt, this is my commission for the month—twenty thousand. Added to what I already gave you..."

Matthew let out a low, unreadable scoff, cutting me off.

He picked up the money, glanced at it with clear disdain, then tossed it aside like it meant nothing.

"Why did you move out?"

The iciness in his voice still hit me in the chest.

I gripped my pen tighter, steadying myself.

"I'm eighteen now. I can take care of myself. I don't want to be a burden anymore, Uncle Matt."

"Burden?" He frowned, setting down his cigar and stepping toward me. "You've never been a burden. You don't owe me anything. If I want to take care of you, then I will. You can stay at Modi Manor as long as you want—even forever."

His towering presence loomed over me, making it hard to breathe. I instinctively stepped back.

I didn't dare look at him. I just kept my head down. I didn’t want to meet his eyes.

I knew trying to avoid him was useless, but it was all I could do.

"Forever's too long, Uncle Matt. I don't want that."

My voice dropped lower than I intended. I knew he wouldn't like that answer.

Sure enough, his hand—midway to brushing my hair—froze in the air.

He knew.

He knew about my tattoo. He knew I was selling bottles. He knew some customers had crossed the line.

His expression darkened instantly, his eyes flashing with something dangerous.

"I told you," he said, voice sharp, "I never wanted your money. You're not leaving Modi Manor. I must've spoiled you too much these past years—now you’re even ignoring what I say."