The Bad Boy I Couldn't Escape

Chapter 2

It was almost the weekend. I had finally gone to all my classes—with Emma by my side, since we were studying the same major. We were back at the dorm together. It was funny how we did everything together—from waking up to attending classes. It felt strange, yet comforting, to share routines and space with someone. After our final class of the week, we lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling in silence.

I must have dozed off, because I woke to Emma gently patting my cheek.

“Hey,” I murmured, still groggy.

“Wanna go out with me tonight?” Emma asked with a teasing smile.

Out? I’d never really gone out before. “Out? Where?” I asked, confused. I sat up and ran my hands down my face and through my hair to make myself look more awake.

Emma reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Clubbing.”

Clubbing? I shook my head. No, I didn’t think so. I hadn’t even been to a party, let alone a club.

“It’s going to be fun,” Emma promised as she pulled me to my feet. Before I could properly protest, she was already undressing me, rummaging through her wardrobe for something to wear.

I said no—more than once. But it didn’t matter. Ten minutes later, I was dressed in a black, low-cut dress that stopped just above my thighs. My hair was pulled into a sleek topknot, and my face was done up with makeup I hadn’t worn since my parents’ funeral.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror and gasped. The girl looking back at me didn’t look like Selene Moretti. She looked bold, mysterious—like someone who belonged to the night.

Emma left me speechless in front of the mirror as she touched up her makeup. Despite my continued pleas to stay behind, we were soon out the door and heading down the stairs.

Outside, a sleek black Bentley waited. She nudged me in, then climbed in after me.

“Emma, please,” I begged quietly. “I really don’t want to go. I’d rather stay in bed and do nothing.”

“That’s not happening,” she said, grinning. “Not as long as I’m your friend.”

My eyes widened at that word—friend.

She was my roommate. I didn’t want a friend. Friends meant attachments, and attachments meant pain when it was time to leave. I had survived by staying alone. That was safer.

So I stayed silent the whole ride to the club, staring out the window, heart racing.

When we arrived, what stood before me was something I never imagined myself facing—not in New York, not ever.

Club Nocturne.

Club Nocturne wasn’t the kind of place you stumbled into. It was the kind of place you were invited to. Tucked beneath the foundation of an unmarked building in downtown Willow Heights, its entrance was hidden behind a steel-black door guarded by men in tailored suits and colder-than-winter stares.

Inside, everything whispered sin and secrecy. Velvet drapes in blood-red hues hung from the ceiling, dim golden lighting flickered like candlelight, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and aged whiskey.

The walls were lined with private booths shrouded in shadows—perfect for whispered deals, illicit meetings, or the kind of touches no one else was meant to see.

At the center, a sleek black marble bar curved like a serpent, manned by bartenders who never asked questions. A live jazz band played from a sunken pit, their music smoky and slow—like seduction set to sound.

But it wasn’t the music or drinks people came for.

It was the myth.

Dante Salvatore.

He was said to own Club Nocturne—or at least control it. No one dared speak his name too loudly, but everyone knew he watched. Every night. From the shadows above, in a private mezzanine few had ever seen.

Club Nocturne wasn’t just a club.

It was a kingdom.

And that night, I—Selene Moretti—stepped into it.

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I made sure not to stray too far from Emma. If she moved, I moved. There was no way I was letting myself get lost in this place. I didn’t belong here. Everything—and everyone—was dripping in luxury, and I felt completely out of place.

We stood side by side at the counter. Emma ordered drinks—something she called s*x on the Beach and Ecstasy. I stood there, blushing while she flirted with the bartender like it was second nature.

Drinks now in hand and the bartender busy with someone else, we stood silently, taking in the room—or rather, I did. Emma looked like she was searching for someone.

That’s when I saw him.

Upstairs, behind the tinted glass that overlooked the entire club. Even in the dim, smoky lighting, I knew—he was staring at me. I looked away instinctively, but the pull was too strong. I glanced back. He was still watching.

“Selene, you okay?” Emma asked, noticing my sudden discomfort.

I leaned closer, whispering, “He won’t look away.”

Emma furrowed her brow. “Who?”

I didn’t dare glance back again. “Him. Up in the VIP area,” I murmured.

Emma followed my gaze, squinting. “I don’t see who you’re talking about.”

I turned back—but he was gone.

Still, I felt him. Felt his eyes on me, like they were burning through my skin. I searched the VIP section but couldn’t find him. The unease in my chest grew.

“Please… can we go now?” I asked Emma, my voice barely audible.

“But we just got here,” she protested.

I was about to argue when she suddenly stepped away from me—and I felt it.

The air shifted.

A presence—dark, powerful, dominant—loomed behind me. My heart dropped. I turned slowly… and there he was. The same man who had been watching me from above. Now, he was standing right in front of me.

So close, I could feel his breath against my cheek. His cologne hit me next—rich, smoky, dangerous.

“Dante,” Emma whispered, her voice laced with something I’d never heard in her before. Fear.

I looked at her, then back at him. Even with four-inch heels on, I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. And God, those eyes… blue like the ocean before a storm, full of possession and something darker.

A tattoo peeked out from beneath the collar of his tailored Armani suit, and I couldn’t look away.

Then, he leaned in—and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to my exposed neck and shoulder.

Someone behind me gasped.

I jolted back, hitting the counter, heart thundering. It felt like electricity had just shot through my body from that single kiss.

“You smell delicious,” he murmured, his voice low, seductive… dangerous.

His eyes never left mine—intense, hungry, claiming. I couldn’t hold his stare. I looked away, trembling.

“I... I... um...” I stammered. Why was I stammering? I never stammered.

I looked to Emma, silently begging for an escape, but she was frozen—staring at me like she’d seen a ghost.

Then, slowly, she stepped closer and placed a hand over mine on the counter, grounding me.

“Selene, this is Dante,” she said softly. “He’s a… good friend of mine.”

But I didn’t want an introduction.

I wanted to leave.

And never come back.