Dominic's POV
Dominic Vale leaned back in the shadows of the security surveillance room, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest of the leather chair. The glow of multiple screens flickered across his sharp features—jaw locked in stoic calm, eyes piercing with a calculating coldness. The men across the city knew him as a force wrapped in tailored suits, but beneath the pristine exterior lay a mastermind who ruled both boardrooms and backrooms alike.
He wasn't just a billionaire—he was the architect of invisible deals, and ParachuteBar was his chessboard. High-end, velvet-draped, and nestled in the forgotten veins of the city, this place catered to the elite.
But Dominic knew one universal truth: the higher the pedestal, the dirtier the secrets.
He had known tonight's deal would spiral into something unclean.
"They're going to drug you during the toast," James, his most trusted man, had informed him three days ago.
"Let them try," Dominic had replied with a faint, cynical smirk. "We'll play it their way."
But he didn't need to play fair. He was the one who had written the rules.
So when his security team intercepted a woman being prepped as bait—someone unknown to their files—he had expected another pawn.
Until he saw her.
He blinked. Was it really her?
Something didn't sit right.
Was she part of the plan? Or was she just a pawn—a wrong move in someone else's game?
Before he could get closer, she stirred.
His feet had halted at the threshold of the interrogation room. The air felt heavier—not because of suspicion but recognition.
It was her.
The woman from the street race.
He remembered the growl of the midnight-black car and the fleeting glance of wild fire in her eyes as she sped past him on the curves. A daredevil, reckless but composed, her laugh still echoed faintly in his memory.
And now—bound to a chair, semi-conscious, brows furrowed in instinctive defiance—she looked like a completely different creature.
Tonight, she wore a black satin mini-dress that clung to her frame like a secret only meant to be unraveled. The draped neckline teased just enough, while the ruched sides wrapped her waist tightly, highlighting her hourglass silhouette. Her hair, long and raven-black, had loosened from its pins, tumbling over one bare shoulder—an accidental mess of elegance. The stark contrast between her pale skin and the glossy strands made her look hauntingly ethereal.
Not the same girl.
Yet unmistakably her.
He stood in the corner, half-hidden, watching her shift uncomfortably as consciousness flickered into full flame behind her wide, alert eyes.
Scene shift – Ava's POV
The first thing Ava felt was her heartbeat—thundering against her ribs like a drum.
She blinked slowly. Her vision was hazy, and the only light in the room glared down from a single overhead bulb, casting everything else in shadow.
Her arms ached. Legs too.
She glanced down and bit her lip.
Tied.
To a chair.
"What the hell…"
She stilled her panic, forcing herself to breathe. Think.
Where was she? The last thing she remembered was a whisper in the bathroom. Something about drugging someone and moving them upstairs. Then—black.
A rustle.
Her head jerked to the side.
There—just outside the spill of light, stood a figure. Still. Watching.
A chill danced down her spine.
Gathering every ounce of composure, Ava narrowed her eyes and tried to sound steady, indifferent even.
"Why am I here?" she asked, her voice low but firm. "Why did you kidnap me?"
Silence.
No answer.
She frowned and shifted slightly. "Look… I'm just a florist. You won't get anything out of me. So let me go."
Still, no response. The presence didn't move, didn't speak.
The pressure of that gaze was unbearable. Like he could see right through her.
Then came a voice—rich, deep, and cold enough to make her stomach twist.
"Who sent you?" he asked.
She blinked. "What?"
"What was your motive? After drugging me?"
Drugging?
Her face shifted from confusion to offense. "Are you insane?" she snapped. "Why would I drug anyone!"
He stepped closer, still in shadow, as if measuring every twitch of her reaction. For a moment, she wondered if this was some terrifying, elaborate prank.
But no.
She remembered now—the woman from the bathroom. Her predatory smile. The way she had looked Ava up and down.
Wrong target.
They had taken her by mistake.
Just as the realization struck, the door creaked open. Bright white light flooded into the grey room, making her flinch. Footsteps followed, a hushed voice murmuring to the shadowed man.
Then followed a moment silence.
Then came the low command, cool and final.
"You can leave."
She glared into the dark, toward where his voice had come from. She couldn't see him, but she felt him.
Then he turned.
For a heartbeat, she caught a glimpse—the outline of a tall, broad-shouldered man. His charcoal-grey vest hugged his form tightly, cutting a perfect silhouette in the light.
He walked toward the door.
Coward.
"You better slip on the stairs and get kidnapped by accident !" she called after him bitterly.
There was a pause.
Chuckled.
A soft, amused sound that surprised even him.
No one could kidnap him. Not in this lifetime.
He exited the room, the echo of her ridiculous curse trailing him. There was something oddly refreshing about it.
A low, amused chuckle that drifted back toward her before the door closed.
A muffled sound.
Laughter?
She seethed. "Jerk."
Scene shift – Dominic's POV
Dominic stepped into the night air outside the bar, the scent of rain-soaked concrete curling around him.
He ran a hand through his hair, shook his head once, then laughed under his breath again.
Her words had caught him off guard—childish and oddly endearing.
No one cursed him like that. No one dared.
Not in this world.
But that girl…
She was a storm bottled in a dress that screamed elegance, yet she wore it like armor.
"She wasn't the target," James confirmed, appearing beside him.
Dominic nodded. "I know."
"You want me to keep her detained until we catch the others?"
"No." His voice was sharp. Certain. "Release her. Safely. "
"No one touches her."
James hesitated. "Are you sure? She saw your face."
"No, she didn't." Dominic exhaled and stepped toward his car. "And even if she had… she's not part of this."
Not like the others.
She hadn't been prepped to drug him, to seduce him for blackmail, to trap him.
She had been… caught in the crossfire.
And yet, he couldn't deny the strange knot forming in his chest.
Why had he let her go?
It wasn't like him. At all.
He should've interrogated her further. Used her to bait the others. But something about the way she had looked at him—defiant, confused, almost amused—made him hesitate.
And Dominic Vale never hesitated.
He climbed into his car, eyes still narrowed in thought. The image of her from the street race clashed violently with the one from tonight. Both untouchable. Both… vivid.
The rain started again, drumming softly on the windshield.
He didn't know her name.
And then… the question.
Why had he let her go so easily?
When his man confirmed the mix-up—"Sir, she wasn't the one. Wrong target"—Dominic had made a snap decision.
"Let her go. Don't touch her."
He didn't regret it. But it made him uncomfortable. He wasn't one for exceptions.
She was an exception.
And that unsettled him.
But he knew one thing—
He wasn't done with her.