Nora's POV
The club was a sensory assault—neon lights pulsing like a migraine, bass thumping through my bones, the stench of overpriced cocktails and cologne clinging to the air. My shift at Luxe Meridian had been a grind, each tray of drinks heavier than the last, my sneakers sticking to the floor, my arms aching from hours of hustling. The entitled patrons with their fake laughs and grabby hands made my skin crawl, but it was Elias who kept me on edge. His guilty eyes, his trembling apologies after his latest screw-up, haunted me. The memory of Mikhail's men dragging him out, the gunshots echoing through that phone—Rick and Theo's pleas cut short—played on a loop. I'd saved him by agreeing to Mikhail's twisted deal, but at what cost? Six months with that devil, his sultry smirk an
