Valarie’s POV

The bass of the club’s music throbbed through the air, syncing with the pulse of adrenaline in Valarie’s veins. The dim neon lights flickered against the sea of bodies, casting deep shadows across the room. She moved effortlessly through the haze of smoke and alcohol, her heels clicking against the sticky floor as she approached the bar.

Her dress—short, tight, and barely there—clung to her body like a second skin, strategically chosen to draw the right kind of attention. It wasn’t the first time she’d gone undercover like this, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Tonight’s target was Viktor Smith, a ruthless drug trafficker known for slipping through law enforcement’s fingers more times than she could count. He was a slippery bastard, but she wasn’t here to arrest him—not yet. First, she needed to get close.

She spotted him near the VIP section, lounging with two heavily armed bodyguards. His eyes, sharp and calculating, raked over the room like a predator surveying its next meal.

Valarie smirked. Perfect.

The music shifted to a slower, more sensual beat, and she took her chance. With calculated movements, she stepped onto the dance floor, letting her hips sway in rhythm with the music. The attention was immediate—eyes lingered, hands reached out—but she was only focused on one. her prey.

Viktor noticed.

She felt the weight of his stare as she let her hands glide down her body, her movements sultry, teasing. She wasn’t just dancing; she was luring him in. She turned her head slightly, locking eyes with him, lips parting just enough to make his interest spike.

Viktor leaned forward, whispering something to one of his men. Within seconds, a bartender approached her, handing her a drink.

“From the man in VIP,” he murmured.

Valarie took the glass, swirling the dark liquid as she flicked her gaze toward Viktor. He was watching her intently, waiting.

She raised the drink to her lips but didn’t drink—just smiled, took the straw between her fingers, and slid it across her tongue deliberately slow. A taunt.

Viktor’s smirk widened. He beckoned her over with a slow curl of his fingers.

Showtime.

Valarie walked toward him, each step deliberate. Every inch of her body radiated confidence, seduction. She stopped just short of his personal space, tilting her head.

“Enjoying the show?” she purred.

Viktor chuckled, his eyes trailing down her body before returning to her face. “I think I could enjoy it even more.”

She leaned closer, letting her fingers trace the rim of her glass. “Then maybe I should give you a private performance.”

His grin turned predatory. “I like the way you think, krasotka.”

Valarie smirked, hiding the blade strapped to her thigh beneath the sheer fabric of her dress.

He had no idea who he was playing with.

***** Viktor’s eyes burned into her like a predator who thought he’d already won. He leaned forward, his breath reeking of expensive liquor and arrogance, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass as he smirked at her.

“You’re even sexier up close, krasotka,” he murmured, his gaze sliding down her body like he was already undressing her in his mind. “I like a woman who knows how to move like that. Tell me, are you as good in bed as you are on the dance floor?”

Valarie forced a slow, sultry smile, playing into his fantasy. “Why don’t you find out?” she teased, tilting her head slightly, her hair cascading down her shoulder in dark waves.

He chuckled, eyes gleaming with hunger. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Viktor reached for his drink and took a slow sip, his other hand moving to her thigh, his fingers brushing against the fabric of her barely-there dress. She resisted the urge to flinch.

Patience.

She had a plan. A flawless, ruthless plan.

She giggled softly, leaning in as if she were just another mindless club girl enchanted by his wealth and power. Her hand slid up his arm, nails lightly scratching his skin. “So, where are we going for this little… afterparty?”

Viktor’s smirk deepened. “My penthouse. Top floor, best view in the city. But I doubt we’ll be looking at the skyline, sexy.”

Valarie bit her lip, feigning excitement, even as her mind raced. If she played this right, she could get him alone, isolated from his guards.

One of Viktor’s men suddenly stepped closer, his calloused hand trailing over her bare shoulder. “Damn, boss, you got yourself a good one tonight,” he sneered, his fingers tightening as if testing her.

Valarie’s jaw clenched, but she played along, giggling breathlessly as if she were flattered.

Another guard leaned in, his rough palm sliding across her waist. “You sharing, boss?” he joked, eyes dark with lust.

Viktor laughed, shaking his head. “Not this one, boys. She’s all mine tonight.”

Valarie pretended to pout, trailing a finger down Viktor’s chest. “A shame. I like an audience,” she whispered, knowing it would stroke his ego.

He exhaled sharply, his grip on her thigh tightening. “You’re dangerous,” he growled approvingly. “And I like it.”

Not as dangerous as you think.

She smiled sweetly, all while calculating every possible escape, every weapon within reach.

Viktor thought he was about to have the night of his life.

He had no idea it would be his last.

***** Sebastian’s POV

She was a vision of sin, wrapped in temptation.

Sebastian leaned against the shadowed corner of the club, watching his obsession weave her way through danger with effortless grace. His Valarie. His beautiful, untouchable deity—dressed like a forbidden dream, a dress so short it barely covered those smooth, toned thighs, hugging every curve of her perfect body.

She was fire and ice, lethal and intoxicating.

His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to grab her, to drag her away from the filth that dared to lay their hands on what was his. Those bastards, touching her, looking at her like she was a prize to be won. They had no idea.

Sebastian smirked darkly.

If they so much as breathed too close, he’d make sure they never drew another.

His eyes traced every inch of her—the way her brown hair tumbled down her back, her teasing smirk, those wicked, knowing eyes that had men groveling at her feet. She was playing them, seducing them into a trap like the deadly siren she was.

And fuck, it turned him on more than he could stand.

His little deity, dancing like the devil, wrapped in silk and danger.

His breath was slow, controlled, but his body burned with need. Valarie had always been beautiful, but like this? Dressed in sin, moving like she owned the world? He wanted to ruin her. Worship her. Devour her.

He swallowed hard, jaw clenching as she leaned into that bastard, whispering something in his ear, her lips just inches from his skin.

Sebastian imagined those same lips parted beneath his own, trembling, breathless.

He thought of gripping her waist, pulling her flush against him, feeling every curve press into his body. He thought of tearing that dress off, of those long legs wrapped around him, of her gasping his name, not because she was undercover but because she was his.

Valarie threw her head back in laughter, and his chest tightened, his hands curling into fists.

That laugh should be his. That body should be his.

She had no idea what she did to him.

Sebastian exhaled, slow and dangerous, his hunger growing unbearable. His little deity thought she was in control, but she had no idea that in the shadows, he was watching. That he had always been watching.

And soon, she’d be his in every way.

******

Sebastian’s vision blurred with red.

That pathetic bastard had the audacity to touch her—his hands skimming up her thigh, lingering, squeezing like he had any right. Like he could have her.

Rage simmered beneath Sebastian’s skin, a dark, violent thing, coiling tighter with every second. His fingers twitched at his sides, itching to grab the nearest knife, to carve the filth’s hands clean off his body.

He knew Valarie was playing him. He knew.

She was luring him in, sinking her claws into her prey with that wicked smirk, that slow, sultry lean into his touch, pretending to enjoy it. It was an act. A trap. She wasn’t his.

But he didn’t give a fuck.

Sebastian’s breathing turned slow, controlled, deadly, but his hands curled into fists. His teeth clenched, jaw ticking as the bastard slid his fingers further up her thigh, whispering something in her ear.

She tilted her head, laughing. Fucking laughing.

Sebastian burned.

Then the bastard leaned in closer, his voice slurred with arrogance. “You’re a real tease, sweetheart. How about you come back to my place?”

Sebastian froze.

The world stopped.

His ears rang, his blood roared, his entire body coiled like a beast about to snap its leash.

That filthy, pathetic piece of shit thought he could have her? Thought he could touch her, take her, drag her into his bed like she was just some cheap thrill?

Sebastian almost lost control right then and there.

Dark, twisted thoughts swarmed his mind. Vivid, violent images of what he could do—would do—to the bastard for even suggesting it. His imagination painted a hundred different ways to break him, to make him suffer for daring to lay his hands on Valarie.

He could slit his throat right here, watch him choke on his own blood. Or maybe break his fingers first, one by one, make sure he never touched another woman again. He could carve his fucking name into his chest just to make a point—she isn’t yours. She was never yours. She’s MINE.

His heart pounded, his breathing sharp.

Valarie smirked, tilting her head as if considering the offer, playing her part so effortlessly, completely unaware of the monster about to be unleashed in the shadows.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the railing so hard he felt the metal dent beneath his fingers.

The bastard wouldn’t live to see tomorrow.

Not if he had anything to say about it.

......