POV:)  Juliet  Anderson

"You cannot wear that."

Sienna flops onto my bed, her manicured fingers tossing a dismissive wave at my outfit—simple black jeans and a crop top. She looks effortlessly perfect in a red silk dress that clings to her curves, her golden hair cascading in loose waves.

"What's wrong with it?" I frown, glancing down at myself.

"It's boring," she sighs. "We are going to Eclipse, Jules. The most exclusive club in the city. Billionaires. Celebrities. Men who could ruin you with a look." She smirks. "And you're walking in there dressed like you're going to a college party?"

I roll my eyes. "I don't want to be ruined."

"That's because you've never even been kissed."

The words land like a bullet.

"Not this again," I groan, rummaging through my closet.

"Yes, this again." She flips onto her stomach, grinning. "How is it possible that you're nineteen and still haven't kissed anyone?"

"I don't know," I mutter. "Maybe because I don't want to throw myself at some random guy just to say I've done it?"

Sienna snorts. "Juliet, you're hot. You could kiss anyone tonight if you wanted to."

I shake my head, pulling out a sleek black dress with thin straps and a dangerously low back. "What about this?"

Her eyes light up. "Now that is club-worthy. Put it on, and we're getting you wrecked tonight."

I laugh. "I'll settle for a drink."

"Drinks and a kiss." She winks. "I dare you."

I roll my eyes, but something in my stomach twists. A thrill, sharp and unexpected.

Maybe tonight, I'd let myself be reckless.

Eclipse Club

The bass thrums beneath my feet as we step inside. The air is thick with perfume, alcohol, and something darker—desire.

The club is a kaleidoscope of flashing lights, expensive suits, and women dressed in sin. There's an edge to the energy here, something intoxicatingly dangerous.

Sienna drags me to the bar, ordering shots. "To college!" she shouts, handing me a glass.

"To college," I echo, knocking it back. The burn rushes through me, making my head spin.

One drink turns into two. Then three.

I feel warm, a little reckless, my skin buzzing with anticipation.

Sienna nudges me. "See anyone you like?"

I scan the club.

That's when I see him.

He's sitting alone at a corner table, dressed in a crisp black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. His dark hair is perfectly styled, his jaw sharp enough to cut. He holds a glass of whiskey in one hand, checking his watch with the other.

He looks... important. Like he owns the room. Like he owns everything.

And for some reason, I can't look away.

Sienna follows my gaze. "Holy shit," she breathes. "That man looks like sin."

"Go talk to him," another friend dares.

I shake my head, but the alcohol hums in my veins, making me braver than usual.

"You wanted me to get my first kiss, right?" I say, surprising even myself.

Sienna's eyes widen. "Juliet—wait, are you—?"

But I'm already moving.

The moment I reach his table, he lifts his gaze.

His eyes are dangerous.

Deep, unreadable, like a storm waiting to strike.

"Can I help you?" His voice is smooth, laced with amusement.

I don't answer.

I lean in.

And then—before I can second-guess myself—I kiss him.

His lips are warm, firm, and for a second, he doesn't react. But then his hand is on my waist, pulling me closer, his fingers pressing into my skin like he owns me.

His tongue sweeps against mine, slow, teasing, devastating.

My knees almost buckle.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

I was not prepared for this.

I was not prepared for him.

When I finally pull away, breathless, his gaze darkens.

"What's your name?" he asks, voice low.

"Juliet," I whisper.

A slow smirk curls his lips.

"Juliet," he repeats, tasting my name like he already knows he's going to ruin me.

He probably will.

And that should terrify me.

But it doesn't.

Because in this moment, with his hand still on my waist and his lips still lingering against mine—

I want to be ruined.

His fingers tighten on my waist. Not too hard. Just enough to tell me he's in control.

The way he looks at me—dark, unreadable—sends a shiver down my spine. I should feel nervous. Maybe even afraid. But all I feel is heat curling in my stomach.

"What are you doing, Juliet?" His voice is low, rich, and laced with something dangerous.

"I don't know," I whisper. It's the truth.

A ghost of a smirk tugs at his lips. "No?"

He leans in, and suddenly his scent surrounds me—something clean, expensive, with a hint of whiskey and power. His lips brush the shell of my ear, not quite touching, just enough to make my pulse stutter.

"Then let me tell you what just happened," he murmurs, voice like silk and sin. "A little girl walked into a club she had no business being in. She got drunk. And then she walked up to a man she shouldn't have touched."

His thumb traces slow, lazy circles on my hip. It's a simple touch, but it feels dangerous.

"Was it a mistake?" I ask, my voice barely above a breath.

His chuckle is dark. "That depends."

"On what?"

His gaze drops to my lips. "On whether you're ready for what happens next."

I should walk away. I should run.

But I don't.

I stay exactly where I am, heart pounding, body thrumming with a need I don't understand.

His other hand lifts, fingertips grazing my jaw. The touch is gentle. Deceptive. Because there's nothing gentle about the way his eyes pin me in place.

"Tell me, Juliet," he murmurs. "Was that your first kiss?"

I swallow hard. "Yes."

Something flickers in his expression—something dark and pleased.

"And yet, you kissed a stranger." His thumb ghosts over my lower lip, making my breath hitch. "What does that say about you?"

I exhale shakily. "What does it say about you that you kissed me back?"

His smirk deepens, but his eyes—God, his eyes—burn into me like he's stripping me bare.

"It says I have a very bad habit of taking things I shouldn't."

His grip tightens, and suddenly, I feel the full weight of him—the danger coiled beneath his touch, the raw, masculine power in his presence.

I should push him away.

Instead, I part my lips. Just slightly. Just enough for him to know I want more.

His breath hitches. Barely. But I hear it. I feel it.

Then, just as quickly as he let me have that small victory, he pulls back.

My chest rises and falls, my body still trembling from the way he held me, the way his touch ignited something reckless inside me.

"Go home, Juliet," he says softly, but there's no kindness in his voice. Only a command.

"What if I don't want to?"

His jaw tightens. "Then you'll regret it."

I swallow hard, my pulse racing.

"Why?"

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he leans in again, and this time, his lips brush against my cheek—just enough to make me ache.

Then he whispers something that sends a sharp jolt of heat and fear straight through me.

"Because, little girl, I don't fuck around with things I don't intend to keep."

A shiver racks my spine.

For the first time tonight, I feel it. The warning beneath his touch.

This isn't a man who gives kisses freely.

This isn't a man who plays fair.

And if I take one more step toward him—if I let him pull me into his orbit—

I won't be able to walk away.

His grip tightens once more, just for a second, before he releases me entirely.

"Go home," he repeats.

I don't.

I stare at him.

I wonder what it would feel like to push him past his control.

To make this dangerous man lose himself in me.

His lips curve, as if he can read my thoughts. As if he already knows he's won.

And when he stands, looming over me like a god about to consume his offering, I finally realize the truth.

I walked into this club looking for a mistake.

But I didn't just find a mistake.

I found a monster.

And now?

He's coming for me.

I swallow hard, my pulse hammering as I meet his gaze.

The music pounds around us, but all I can hear is the sound of my own ragged breathing and the distant clink of ice in his untouched whiskey glass.

I wet my lips, forcing myself to find my voice.

"What's your name?" I ask.

A slow, dangerous smirk curls his lips. He leans back in his chair, his eyes flicking over me with something unreadable—something predatory.

Then, he does something I don't expect.

He laughs.

It's deep and rich, a sound that sends a shiver racing down my spine.

"You've got some nerve," he murmurs, shaking his head. "Are you always this brave, little girl? Or is it just the alcohol?"

My fingers curl at my sides. His condescension should irritate me. But the way he says it—like he already knows I'm not as fearless as I pretend to be—makes my stomach twist.

"I think I deserve to know the name of the man I just kissed," I say, forcing my voice to stay steady.

His smirk widens, but his eyes darken, turning almost lazy as he watches me like a wolf deciding whether or not to devour its prey.

"You really want to know?" he muses, tilting his head. "Fine."

He leans in, so close I can feel his breath against my lips.

"My name is Alexander Wolfe."

The name slithers over my skin like a warning.

Wolfe.

It sounds familiar. Too familiar.

Something about it prickles at the edges of my drunken haze, something I can't quite place—

Until he smirks again, tilting his glass.

"I'm the man people don't ask questions about," he says smoothly. "The one they whisper about behind closed doors." He pauses, then his voice drops lower, sending a tremor through me.

"I'm mafia, babygirl."

My stomach plummets.

My body goes cold.

For the first time tonight, the warmth of the alcohol does nothing to dull the sharp, terrifying realization of who I'm dealing with.

A mafia boss.

I take a step back. Instinct. Survival. But the second I do, his hand darts out, curling around my wrist—not hard, just firm enough to still me.

The air crackles between us.

Then—

A chuckle.

Low, dark, teasing.

"Relax," he murmurs, his grip loosening. "I'm just messing with you, babygirl."

I exhale, only now realizing how tightly I was holding my breath.

His fingers release me entirely, but before I can step away, he reaches up, slow and deliberate, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

It's such a soft gesture.

But it doesn't feel soft.

It feels dangerous.

His fingers linger, tracing the shell of my ear, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin just below.

"Why so scared?" His voice is silk, his lips inches from mine. "You were brave a second ago."

I can't think.

I can't breathe.

My body is betraying me, torn between fear and the dizzying pull of his touch.

"You're dangerous," I whisper.

He hums, amused. "And yet, you're still standing here."

"Go, babygirl," Alexander murmurs, his voice rough, dangerous. "Before I do something I don't want to."

His words wrap around me like a warning, thick with a promise I don't fully understand.

I take a shaky breath and force myself to move—away from his heat, away from the way his touch made me feel like I was standing on the edge of something ruinous.

As soon as I step back, the air between us shifts.

Something unspoken lingers in his gaze, something unreadable, dark.

I turn quickly, heading back toward my friends. My legs feel weak, my skin still tingling where he touched me.

Sienna's eyes are wide when I reach her.

She looks between me and Alexander, then smirks. "Holy shit, Jules. That looked intense."

I swallow hard. "I—"

"How was it?" she cuts me off, her voice dripping with curiosity. "Did you like it?"

I don't know how to answer.

I can still feel his breath against my skin. His touch on my waist. The way he looked at me—like I was something he wanted to keep.

Like I was something he would keep.

"I don't know," I murmur.

Sienna grins. "Then let's dance. Maybe that'll clear your head."

I let her pull me toward the dance floor, trying to shake the lingering effect of Alexander's presence.

The music pulses around us, bodies moving, heat thick in the air. I close my eyes, letting the beat take over, trying to lose myself in the moment.

Then—

A man steps in front of me.

Tall, broad, with dark eyes and an easy smirk. "Hey there," he says smoothly. "Can I buy you a drink?"

I hesitate.

One drink wouldn't hurt, right?

I force a smile. "Sure."

Sienna winks at me as I follow him to the bar.

We chat a little—small talk, nothing memorable. I barely hear what he's saying over the music. I nod, sipping my drink, pretending to be engaged.

Then he moves closer.

Too close.

His hand grazes my arm, trailing down toward my waist.

I stiffen.

Something feels off.

Before I can react, before I can take a step back—

I feel it.

A presence.

Heat.

Power.

And then—

A strong, unyielding arm wraps around my waist, pulling me back against something solid.

I suck in a sharp breath, my body stiffening as goosebumps erupt across my skin.

I don't even have to look.

I already know who it is.

But I do.

I turn my head slowly, pulse hammering, breath caught in my throat—

And find myself staring up into him.

Alexander.

His expression is unreadable.

His grip on my waist is firm. Possessive.

Like he's staking a claim.

His voice is low, lethal. "Am I interrupting something?"

The man in front of me tenses. His eyes flick between me and Alexander, some unspoken understanding passing between them.

"No, man," he mutters, stepping back. "Just talking."

"Mm." Alexander's fingers tighten just slightly on my waist, a silent warning. "I bet."

The guy swallows, nods, and disappears into the crowd.

Silence stretches between us.

The club fades away.

It's just him.

His body against mine, his breath warm against my neck.

I exhale shakily, trying to ignore the way my body reacts to him.

"You shouldn't be here," he murmurs, voice like smoke and sin.

I tilt my chin up defiantly. "Neither should you."

His smirk is slow, dangerous. "You don't even know who I am, babygirl."

I swallow hard. "Then tell me."

His fingers brush my waist, sending another shiver down my spine.

"You don't want to know."

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