Chapter Six
956 Words
By Friday night, the city pulsed with restless energy.
Rain glistened on the cobblestones, taxis honked in the distance, and every bar in central London buzzed with noise.
Ava hadn’t meant to drink that much. But after seventy-two hours of being watched, warned, and invaded, she needed something anything to quiet her mind.
She wasn’t celebrating; she was surviving.
The club was called Three, one of those secret places you didn’t find unless someone powerful wanted you to. Her friend Leah had dragged her there, saying she needed “a break before she turned into a ghost.”
The place smelled of money and mischief velvet couches, champagne towers, and laughter that didn’t sound real. Music thrummed through her chest, deep and hypnotic.
Leah was already on the dance floor, spinning in silver heels. Ava sat at the bar, nursing her third glass of wine, pretending to enjoy the chaos.
“Rough week?” the bartender asked.
“You could say that.”
He smiled politely. “You want the usual, or something stronger?”
“Stronger,” she said without hesitation.
He slid her a glass of something golden and burning. Ava downed half of it in one go.
Her reflection in the mirror behind the bar looked unfamiliar eyes darker, lips parted, a woman caught between defiance and exhaustion. Maybe the drink would help her forget that someone had broken into her flat. Maybe it would help her stop wondering if Luca DeLuca was watching her right now.
She laughed quietly at the thought. He wouldn’t show up here. Men like him send shadows, not themselves.
A hush spread through the crowd near the entrance. Subtle, but real. Heads turned, whispers rippled like wind through silk.
Ava didn’t need to look to know someone important had arrived. The club had that atmosphere shift the kind that followed power.
Still, curiosity tugged at her. She turned her head just enough to see him.
Luca DeLuca.
Tall. Controlled. Dressed in a black suit that looked like it had been tailored by sin itself. He moved through the crowd like he owned it and maybe he did. A dark aura clung to him, quiet and commanding, drawing attention without asking for it.
Ava froze. Her heartbeat skipped, then raced.
For a split second, their eyes met across the room.
He didn’t look surprised.
She did.
Luca’s gaze held hers for a heartbeat too long. Then he said something to the man beside him Marco, she realized and started walking toward the bar.
Ava’s throat went dry. Every instinct screamed at her to leave. But her pride was stronger. If he wanted to intimidate her, he’d have to try harder.
She turned back to her drink, pretending not to notice him until his reflection appeared in the mirror behind the bar tall, composed, terrifyingly close.
“Miss Morel,” his voice drawled, deep and smooth as whiskey. “You drink stronger than you write.”
Her grip tightened around her glass. “That depends. I only drink when men break into my home.”
A faint smirk touched his mouth. “If someone did, I’m sure they had good reason.”
Her eyes flicked up to his in the mirror. “You don’t scare me.”
“I should.”
The bartender quietly disappeared, leaving them alone in their bubble of tension and low music.
Ava turned to face him fully. “Why are you here?”
“Maybe I wanted to see what kind of woman hides behind a headline,” he said.
“Or maybe you just like control.”
He tilted his head slightly. “I don’t chase journalists, Miss Morel. They usually come to me.”
“Then consider this an accident.”
His gaze dropped to the nearly empty glass in her hand. “No accident ever tastes that deliberate.”
Ava felt the alcohol warm her skin, blurring the edges of her anger. “You think you’re clever.”
“I think I’m patient,” he said, voice low. “And you’re reckless.”
“I call it brave.”
“Bravery is what people call recklessness after it works.”
She exhaled, a shaky laugh escaping her. “You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”
He leaned in slightly, the scent of his cologne cutting through the haze. “Not for you.”
The words hung between them, electric and dangerous. Neither moved, but the world around them seemed to fade the laughter, the music, the light.
For a moment, she forgot who he was.
Then he reached out slowly and brushed a strand of wet hair from her cheek.
Ava froze. Her pulse thudded in her ears.
“Careful,” she whispered. “Someone might think you’re human.”
His smirk deepened. “And someone might think you’re not afraid.”
“I’m not,” she lied.
His hand lingered a second too long before he pulled it back. “Then prove it.”
Their eyes locked again a quiet challenge neither of them intended to start, yet neither could walk away from.
Ava leaned closer, the wine and defiance twisting her sense of distance. The club lights flickered red and gold across his face.
It happened in a blur a breath, a heartbeat, a second too close.
Her lips brushed his.
Just barely.
A whisper of contact enough to burn, not enough to satisfy.
Then she pulled back, eyes wide, realizing what she’d done.
Luca’s gaze darkened. Not anger something heavier. Something that promised consequences.
The music surged again. The crowd laughed. The world moved on.
But Ava knew she’d just crossed a line.
And the most dangerous part?
She wasn’t sure she wanted to go back.
- Writer
