Power
Alara’s POV Le Nocturne wasn’t just a restaurant—it was a fortress of wealth and silence. The kind of place where oil tycoons made handshake deals worth billions, where old money wore darker suits and colder smiles. I stood outside the towering glass doors, fingers tightening around the velvet clutch Ace had delivered alongside the emerald gown earlier. The dress felt expensive—too expensive. Satin that poured over my skin like a secret. A slit that flirted with danger. The doorman pulled the door open without a word. Inside, the air was scented with quiet piano notes and aged wine. No chatter, just murmurs behind velvet drapes and private alcoves. And there he was. Ace Wolfe. He didn’t look up immediately. Seated in a corner booth, half his face cast in shadow, he sipped from a glas
- Writer
