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Chapter 1 THE MASKED STRANGER

The air was thick with perfume and secrets.

Velvet curtains draped the grand ballroom, casting shadows over men in tailored tuxedos and women in shimmering gowns. Crystal chandeliers glowed like moons overhead, illuminating half-covered faces, hiding intentions behind delicate masks.

I stood at the edge of it all, a glass of champagne in one hand, my black lace mask in place, my body wrapped in a crimson silk gown that clung to every curve like a second skin. I wasn't there to dance. I was there to hunt.

And there he was-Adrian Kane.

He moved through the crowd like a man who didn't belong to it. Tall. Cold. Powerful. His silver-trimmed mask only enhanced the sharpness of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the control in his every step. He wasn't laughing. He wasn't drinking. He was watching.

I wondered if he knew he was being watched, too.

"Target acquired," I whispered to myself.

I stepped into the room, letting the music wash over me, hips swaying with a rhythm I knew men couldn't resist. Eyes followed me-lustful, curious-but I only had one man in mind.

And then, like it was scripted, his gaze found mine.

It was piercing. Not lustful. Not playful. Intense. Like he saw something beneath the silk, the beauty, the mask. A flicker of danger. A woman not to be toyed with.

Good. Let the predator think he's in control. That's how the prey falls faster.

He crossed the floor like gravity was pulling him toward me. I didn't blink. Didn't flinch. My heart was still. My mission was clear.

"You're not dancing," he said, his voice low, cool, like a blade sliding across silk.

"I'm not here to dance," I replied, offering a slow, deliberate smile.

His eyes dipped to my lips, then returned to mine. "Then what are you here for?"

"To be noticed," I said. "Mission accomplished."

He stepped closer, so close I could smell the spice of his cologne-amber, leather, danger.

"You don't seem like the type to hide behind a mask," he murmured.

I tilted my head. "And yet, here we are. Both masked. Both pretending."

He chuckled. Just once. But it wasn't light. It was dark. A warning.

"I don't pretend," he said. "Everything I do is very, very real."

I leaned in, close enough for my breath to brush his jaw. "Then prove it."

His hand reached for my waist-possessive, firm, but not forceful. Our bodies pressed together, heat igniting between us in an instant. I felt his strength, his restraint, the tension that simmered beneath his composed exterior.

He didn't ask for my name.

I didn't offer it.

Some games are best played by strangers.

We danced, not to the music, but to our own rhythm. His fingers found the bare skin of my back. Mine teased the edge of his collar. We were circling each other like fire and gasoline.

By the time the song ended, I knew two things:

He wanted me.

And he had no idea I was the beginning of his end.

He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of my ear.

"Come with me," he said.

I nodded.

Let the poison begin.

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