Behind a locked mahogany door, the most feared man in the city woke with a gun in his hand and found me asleep on his chest. Men had disappeared for speaking to Victor Hayes the wrong way, yet somehow I had spent the night using him as a pillow—and when he realized who I was, everything changed.

For the next three days, my world was inverted.

I went from sleeping on a narrow cot in the dark basement of the staff quarters to occupying a suite with silk drapes, a marble fireplace, and a terrace overlooking the private rose gardens of the estate.

Every morning, a team of tailors arrived with racks of high-end clothing—cashmere sweaters, tailored trousers, silk blouses, and gowns that cost more than my father had made in a year.

I was no longer permitted to clean. Whenever I picked up a cloth or attempted to clear my own breakfast tray, the senior butler, an elderly man named Arthur, would politely but firmly gently take it from my hands with a quiet, "Mr. Hayes has strictly forbidden you from performing domestic duties, Miss Maya."

Victor was recovering rapidly. His iron constitution and sheer willpower meant that by Thursday, he had discarded his sling, though a dark, lethal tension hung over the estate.

Every evening at seven, Victor required me to dine with him in the formal dining room.

It was an intimidating affair. A thirty-foot mahogany table separated us from the rest of the world, illuminated by crystal chandeliers. Yet Victor always insisted I sit directly to his right, rather than at the far end of the table.

"You're quiet tonight," Victor observed on Thursday evening, cutting into a rare filet mignon with precise, smooth movements.

I looked down at my plate of seared scallops. "I'm still trying to wake up from whatever dream this is, Mr. Hayes."

"Victor," he corrected gently, setting his knife down. "When we are inside these walls, you call me Victor."

"Victor," I repeated, the name feeling heavy, intimate, and electric on my tongue. "People are talking. The staff... Paul... they look at me like I'm a spy, or a temporary toy."

Victor’s grey eyes hardened into cold ice. "Paul knows better than to question my decisions. And if any member of the staff makes you feel uncomfortable, tell me. They will be removed from the property before sunrise."

"No!" I said quickly, reaching out instinctively to catch his wrist. "Please, no. They're just confused. I was scrubbing their toilets four days ago, Victor. You can't blame them for being suspicious."

Victor looked down at my hand resting against his wrist. Instead of pulling away, his hand turned over, his long fingers intertwining with mine, squeezing gently.

"Tonight is the Annual Maritime Commerce Ball at the Grand Plaza," Victor stated, changing the subject smoothly. "The entire city leadership will be there. The Mayor, the Chief of Police, the port directors... and Marco Moretti."

My breath hitched. "Moretti?"

"Moretti believes he succeeded in weakening me," Victor said, a cold, predatory smile spreading across his sharp features. "He believes I am bedridden, bleeding out in a panic room, losing control of my shipping terminals. He needs to see me."

He lifted my hand to his lips, pressing a warm, lingering kiss to the back of my knuckles while keeping his eyes locked onto mine.

"And he needs to see the woman who saved my life standing by my side."

Two hours later, I stood before the full-length mirror in my dressing room, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me.

I wore an off-the-shoulder, emerald green silk gown that clung to my waist before flowing down to the floor in heavy, liquid folds. My dark hair was swept up into an intricate, elegant style, exposing the long line of my neck, where a simple diamond necklace—a loan from Victor’s private vault—glittered in the light.

The heavy mahogany doors opened, and Victor stepped into the room.

He wore a bespoke black tuxedo that fitted his broad, muscular frame perfectly. He looked impossibly handsome, terrifyingly powerful, and utterly dominant.

He stopped in the center of the room, his icy eyes sweeping over me from head to toe. For three full seconds, the dark lord of the city stood completely speechless.

"You are..." Victor began, his voice rough, raspy, and filled with a thick, heavy emotion. "You are magnificent, Maya."

He walked over to me, stepping right into my personal space. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a delicate velvet box, opening it to reveal a pair of matching emerald and diamond drop earrings.

"May I?" he asked softly.

I nodded, holding my breath.

Victor leaned in close, his broad fingers remarkably gentle as he attached the earrings to my lobes. His chest brushed against my shoulder, his warm, dark scent enveloping me completely. As he finished, his hands lingered on my bare shoulders, his thumbs tracing tiny, warm circles against my collarbone.

"Tonight," Victor whispered into my ear, his deep voice vibrating through my skin, "you don't look down. You don't apologize to anyone. You hold your head high, because every man in that ballroom will wish he were standing where I am."

I turned my head slightly, my lips inches from his jawline. "And where are you standing, Victor?"