The city of Los Angeles sparkled under the night sky like diamonds on velvet—shiny, enticing, and deadly. Neon lights painted the streets with artificial magic, and behind every glowing sign was a story drenched in secrets, betrayal, or blood. In the center of it all, seated at the top of a private skyscraper, was a man whose name could make anyone's blood run cold: Austin Montgomery.
Trillionaire. Mafia king. The man who held the city in the palm of his calloused, iron-clad hand.
He stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, staring out over the city he owned. Six-foot-five, with a body carved from relentless training and war, Austin's presence was commanding. His sharp jawline, chiseled features, and cold blue eyes made women weak and men wary. But it was the aura he carried—one of danger and power—that kept most people from getting too close.
Behind him, his consigliere, Victor, cleared his throat.
"She begged for her life," Victor said casually, pouring himself a drink from the bar.
Austin didn't flinch. "And?"
"I ended it anyway."
He nodded. "Good. She knew what betraying me meant."
Victor chuckled. "You really don't have a soul."
Austin's lips curled into a humorless smirk. "I sold it a long time ago."
Silence stretched for a beat. Victor leaned on the desk, studying him. "You know, at some point, you're going to want more than blood and money."
"I have everything I need." Austin turned away from the window and headed toward the dark wood bar to pour himself a whiskey.
"Everything but a heart," Victor muttered.
Austin downed the drink and didn't respond.
---
Born into a wealthy family with deep political ties, Austin had never known peace. His father was a senator who smiled for cameras but trafficked influence behind the scenes. His mother was a trophy wife turned alcoholic, too doped up on pills to care that her husband was grooming their son to become a monster.
At sixteen, Austin was sent to a private military school—where he learned brutality, strategy, and silence. At eighteen, he watched his father be assassinated in a hit meant for him. At twenty, he inherited a vast underground empire—drugs, weapons, contracts, casinos, and silence.
By twenty-five, he'd made it all legit—at least on paper.
But the blood never washed away.
---
That night, Austin had dinner alone in the penthouse, his meal prepped by his in-house chef, and eaten in silence. No distractions. No guests. No warmth.
Just him and the empire.
The only thing that stirred emotion in him anymore was control. Knowing that every politician, judge, and rival gang leader feared his name. That he could shut down half the city with a phone call. That no one crossed Austin Montgomery and lived to tell the tale.
That's how it had to be.
But something inside him had begun to shift in the past few months. He felt… disconnected. Restless. Bored, even. The women who threw themselves at him, the deals, the violence—it all felt stale. Predictable. Empty.
He poured himself another drink, loosening the collar of his black dress shirt. It clung to his muscular frame, the tattoos that lined his chest peeking through. He stared at the drink, but it didn't offer comfort.
What was missing?
---
The next morning, Austin woke before sunrise, as usual. He worked out in the private gym attached to his suite. One hundred pushups. One hundred pullups. One hundred crunches. Discipline kept his demons in check. Sweat soaked his shirt by the end, and he relished the burn.
As he toweled off, Victor entered, phone in hand.
"There's a situation," he said grimly.
Austin didn't stop moving. "When isn't there?"
"A girl. She's connected to a small-time gang that tried to skim money from our downtown club. She might have overheard something."
He raised a brow. "Then why are you telling me about it?"
Victor hesitated. "She's… different. Not part of the life. Just a bystander. A nurse, apparently. There's talk she might go to the cops."
Austin's jaw tightened. "Name?"
"Clair Johnson."
He paused. "Pretty?"
Victor smirked. "Gorgeous. Black girl. Natural curls. Brown eyes. About five-seven. Calm demeanor—but she's got a mouth on her. Smart too."
Austin stared at him for a long moment, then walked to his closet.
"Where is she?"
"She works at L.A. County Hospital. Lives in South Central."
Austin dressed in a tailored black suit and nodded. "Tonight, we're going to the club. I want to see her."
Victor grinned. "Figured you'd say that."
---
Austin didn't know why he cared. He hadn't been attracted to a woman in a real way in years. But something about the description—a calm girl with a temper, a heart for people, and brains? That tugged at something deep inside him.
He told himself he just wanted to keep her quiet.
He didn't believe himself.
---
By midnight, they were at Eclipse, one of Austin's most exclusive clubs. Velvet ropes. VIP sections. Flashing lights. Heat. Music. Women.
And Clair.
She stood near the bar, dressed in a soft brown silk dress that hugged her curves in a way that demanded attention. Her curls framed her face like a halo, and her eyes—God, her eyes—burned with quiet fire.
She wasn't drinking. She wasn't smiling. She looked uncomfortable, scanning the room like she was ready to leave.
He watched her.
She didn't see him yet.
Then, two men approached her—both already drunk. One grabbed her arm. She pushed him off. He laughed. The other tried to get behind her. She shoved him, and that's when the bigger one raised his hand.
Before he could touch her, Austin moved.
---
The crowd parted like the Red Sea.
Austin walked straight toward them, suit sharp, eyes sharper.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" His voice was quiet, but it cut through the music.
The men turned.
One froze. "Mr. Montgomery—"
"You're touching what's mine?" Austin asked calmly.
Clair's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"
Austin didn't look at her. Not yet.
The men backed up. One ran. The other tried to explain. Austin cracked his knuckles.
A second later, the man was on the floor, nose broken, gasping for air.
Austin finally turned to Clair.
She stared at him. "I'm not yours," she snapped.
He smiled. Cold. Intrigued. "You will be."
And then—darkness.
---
Clair never saw it coming.
A sharp prick in her neck. The room spun. The lights blurred.
The last thing she saw was Austin's blue eyes watching her fall into blackness.
---
She woke up hours later, in silk sheets, in a massive room that smelled of cedar and danger.
Her head pounded.
Her heart raced.
And when she sat up, she saw him—sitting on a leather chair across the room, watching her like a predator.
"Where am I?" she demanded.
He stood slowly. "Safe."
She narrowed her eyes. "You kidnapped me."
"I saved you," he said coolly. "Those men weren't going to stop. I made sure they did."
"By drugging me?"
He shrugged. "You were going to run."
She stood, wobbling slightly. "You don't know me."
"Not yet."
His words chilled her to the bone.
She looked around. No phone. No windows. Just heavy curtains, thick silence, and his looming presence.
"What do you want?" she whispered.
Austin walked toward her, stopping inches away. She could smell the expensive cologne, feel the heat rolling off his body.
"I want to protect you," he said, voice low.
"I didn't ask for that."
"No," he said. "But you're getting it anyway."