Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Paint the Town (With Trouble)
The neon glow of Paris at midnight was nothing like Brooklyn. Lex Vega stood on the rain-slicked cobblestones outside the Palais Saint-Claire, glaring up at the gilded mansion. Its windows blazed like judgmental eyes, and the champagne-soaked laughter spilling from its doors made her teeth ache. Was this her big break? A private masquerade for trust-fund vampires and their diamond-encrusted sycophants?
She adjusted the raven-feathered mask digging into her temples and muttered, “You owe me, Margot.” Her agent had begged her to attend this “networking opportunity” after the gallery offer came through. “It’s Julian Saint-Claire’s annual ball, Lex! The man’s a myth! He could buy your future with pocket change!” Lex had rolled her eyes but packed her spray cans anyway. Art was art, even if it meant playing nice with billionaires.
Smoothing the wrinkles from her thrifted leather jacket—screw ball gowns—she flashed a forged invite at the stone-faced bouncer and slipped inside.
The air smelled like jasmine, arrogance, and money. Crystal chandeliers dripped from ceilings painted with fat cherubs, and a string quartet sawed out a Vivaldi piece as guests in silks and animal masks swirled past. Lex snorted. Rich people cosplaying as humans. Classic.
She snagged a flute of champagne from a passing tray and downed it. The bubbles burned, but not as much as the stares. Her combat boots and ripped jeans were a middle finger to the room, and she relished it. Let them gawk. She wasn’t here to fit in.
“Mademoiselle Vega.”
The voice was velvet wrapped around a blade. Lex turned, and her pulse stuttered.
He stood six feet of tailored menace, his tuxedo clinging to broad shoulders like it owed him money. His mask—sleek black obsidian, sharp enough to draw blood—left only his mouth visible. A cruel, perfect mouth, curved in a smirk that made her want to punch him or kiss him. Maybe both.
“Do I know you?” she said, crossing her arms.
“You will.” He stepped closer, and Lex caught the scent of bourbon and sandalwood. Dangerous. Expensive. “I’ve seen your work. Rage in Primary Colors. The triptych you left on the Métro tunnels last week. It’s… violent. Unapologetic.” His gaze raked her from boots to tangled dark curls. “Like its creator.”
Lex’s cheeks burned. “Stalking’s a creepy hobby, Monsieur…?”
“Saint-Claire.” He plucked the empty flute from her hand, fingertips brushing hers. Deliberate. “Julian.”
Shit. Margot hadn’t mentioned he’d look like that. Lex squared her shoulders. “Congrats on the whole… palace thing. But if you’re expecting me to be curtsied, you’ll be disappointed.”
Julian laughed, low and humorless. “I’d prefer you didn’t. I’ve never found submission… interesting.” He nodded toward a shadowed archway. “Walk with me.”
It wasn’t a request.
Lex hesitated, but curiosity—and the three more champagnes she’d inhaled—made her follow. They slipped into a corridor lined with oil portraits of dead aristocrats, their eyes tracking her like jurors.
“Why’d you really bring me here?” Lex demanded. “If you wanted a puppet to paint pretty lies on your walls, you picked the wrong artist.”
Julian paused, turning to face her. “I don’t want to be pretty.” He reached into his jacket, pulling out a folded photo. “I want this.”
Lex’s breath caught. It was a snapshot of her latest piece—a mural of a wolf tearing out its own ribs, painted on the side of a condemned Brooklyn warehouse. She’d signed it with her tag: VXXA.
“How did you—?”
“I have a vested interest in people who aren’t afraid to bleed on their art,” he said, stepping into her space. “People who understand that beauty is just pain… polished.”
Lex held her ground. “And what do you know about pain?”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “More than you’ll ever guess.”
Before she could retort, his hand snapped out, gripping her wrist. Lex jerked back, but he pressed her palm against the cold wall above her head. “You’re here because I need someone who can’t be bought,” he murmured, his breath hot in her ear. “Someone reckless enough to help me destroy a man.”
Lex’s heart hammered. “Who?”
“Me.”
She froze. “What?”
Julian’s thumb traced the pulse racing in her wrist. “There’s a board meeting in three days. My partners plan to vote me out—steal my company, my patents, everything. But if a certain… scandals were to erupt, something that renders me too volatile to lead…” He tilted his head. “You’ve made a career out of chaos, ma fauve. I’m asking you to paint it live.”
Lex gaped. “You want me to sabotage your own company?”
“I want you to make it art.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “I’ll triple your commission. Name your price.”
She should’ve walked away. But the dare in his voice, the heat of his grip—it lit a fuse in her blood. “Why me?”
Julian leaned in until their masks nearly touched. “Because when I look at you,” he whispered, “I see the same hunger I taste in the mirror every morning.”
The world narrowed to his mouth, his hands, the thrilling, terrifying sense that she was standing on a cliff’s edge. Lex hissed, “You don’t know me.”
“Don’t I?” His free hand slid to her waist, pulling her flush against him. “You hate this party. You hate me. But you’re still here… because you want to know what happens next.”
He was right, damn him.
Lex surged forward, crushing her lips to his.
It wasn’t a kiss—it was a collision. Julian growled, his fingers tangling in her hair as he kissed her back with bruising intensity. Lex bit his lower lip, and he laughed darkly, spinning her against the wall. The obsidian mask clattered to the floor, and suddenly she was staring into eyes the color of storm—gray, electric, utterly ruthless.
“You’re playing with fire, m
a fauve,” he warned.
Lex grinned, wild and reckless. “Then burn with me.”
