Elena Russo never imagined that stepping into that exclusive gala would change her life forever. She had spent years struggling to make a name for herself in the art world, barely scraping by with commissions and the occasional gallery showing. But tonight was different. Tonight, she was no longer the starving artist—she was the guest of honor, invited by a wealthy patron who had taken a keen interest in her work. Dressed in a sleek black gown that clung to her curves, she felt out of place among the city's elite, but she refused to let it show.
The ballroom shimmered with opulence, chandeliers casting golden light across polished marble floors. Laughter and the clink of champagne glasses filled the air, but Elena felt an uneasy prickle down her spine. It was the feeling of being watched—no, hunted.
And then she saw him.
Damian Costa stood across the room, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his gaze locked onto her as if she were prey. He was devastatingly handsome in an unapproachable way—tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit. His dark hair was neatly styled, but there was a wildness in his stormy gray eyes, a quiet menace lurking beneath the surface. Power clung to him like a second skin, and the crowd unconsciously parted around him, as if they knew better than to stand in his way.
Elena knew who he was. Everyone did.
Damian Costa was more than just a businessman. He was a legend whispered about in hushed tones—a man who controlled more than half the city's underground dealings. He was untouchable, feared, and ruthless. And yet, here he was, watching her with an intensity that made her breath hitch.
Before she could look away, he moved.
One moment, he was across the room, and the next, he was standing in front of her, his presence overwhelming. "Elena Russo," he murmured, his deep voice sending a shiver down her spine. "I've been waiting to meet you."
She swallowed, trying to mask the way her pulse thundered in her ears. "I didn't realize my work had such a far-reaching audience."
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but there was no humor in his expression. "Your art speaks to me." His gaze roamed over her, lingering in a way that felt like a claim. "But you… you intrigue me more."
Elena forced herself to hold his gaze. "I don't belong in your world, Mr. Costa."
"Perhaps not," he admitted, tilting his head. "But that doesn't change the fact that you're already in it. And whether you realize it or not, I don't intend to let you leave."
A cold dread settled in her stomach, but beneath it, something dark and forbidden stirred. She should have turned away, should have run. But when Damian Costa reached for her hand, she let him take it.
And just like that, her fate was sealed.