1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Gianna

"You will meet a dark and troubled man who will drown you with his ocean eyes."

That's all the psychic would tell me.

I knew she wasn't talking about Guy, my ex. He was pale, British and he didn't have blue eyes.

The only thing drowning in our former relationship was Guy's liver from all the beer he drank. I thought I could save him, but it turned out he wasn't troubled; he was just an alcoholic.

As I get on my flight to Chicago, I'm painfully aware that I haven't been home in over two years and I have no idea what is waiting for me there.

Hopefully, it's the dark and troubled man who is ready to drown me with his eyes. There's nothing else about going back to my hometown that sounds exciting to me.

***

I'm home. But it doesn't feel like I'm home.

Since my parents had decided that I should spend my high school and college years in a different country, the idea of home has been a foreign concept to me.

I actually thrived in boarding school and these last few years of college were full of friendships and happiness. But now that I have my degree in hand, and I'm single again, coming home to Chicago is my only option.

Logically, I know it's the smartest thing to do right now, but my life in London was much more pleasant than the life I'm about to go back to in Chicago.

Standing in my childhood house, looking at the kitchen that has been renovated at least twice since I left, I feel like an imposter. My parents made it a policy to bring me home twice a year for holidays, but I'm just not used to spending more than a few weeks at a time in this house.

My mother is constantly fussing over my appearance, and I can already feel my patience dwindling. She's been chatting at me about how excited she is to plan my birthday party since she picked me up from the airport.

It's the first time in years that I've been home for my birthday. For my thirteenth birthday, my parents were in Italy, but they paid for my group of friends to be taken to Disney World.

My other birthdays were all celebrated at boarding school and I always received expensive gifts. They even sent me to Spain for my eighteenth birthday.

However, my parents were pretty much MIA for these celebrations.

So, I can see why my mother would feel the need to overcompensate this year. I could not care less, though. I have plenty of other things to think about – like what my life is going to look like now, in Chicago single and without any real purpose.

But I will indulge my mother with this party since she's trying so hard.

"Would you prefer a vanilla cake, then, Gianna?" My mother sighs. She's obviously been talking about the party while I zoned out.

"Mom, does it even matter? Most of your friends wouldn't allow themselves to eat it anyway," I reply, my voice dripping with sarcasm despite my best efforts to be kind.

She doesn't respond to me and walks out of the kitchen, leaving me to my own thoughts again.

I pull out my phone and dial the numbers of the few friends I still have in this part of the world. I need to get drunk tonight.

In London, I was much better behaved, studying and enjoying nights out at the theater with Guy. But I need to stop overthinking about my future and current situation right now and a few cocktails seem like the best way to do this.

***

It's almost eleven and I'm doing my makeup to go out. I look at myself in the mirror and fluff up the roots of my honey-brown hair. It's grown so long that it's touching my hips now.

I couldn't find a hair stylist I liked in London. Guy always complained about how long my hair was, but I wasn't that keen to cut it, especially if I wasn't comfortable with the stylist working on my hair.

Slipping my favorite red dress over my curvy body and stepping into a pair of stilettos, I smile at my reflection. I work out a lot, which makes showing off my figure even more fun.

Finishing up my outfit, I put on my signature maroon lipstick and put mascara on my eyelashes to bring out the green in my eyes.

Now I'm ready to go out and have a bit of fun.

My group of friends pick me up five minutes later, although I make them park two houses down from my door. My parents are already in bed, and my brother, William, isn't home, so I make it out of the door without being questioned. They can track my phone, anyway, so if they really want to find me, they will.

The drive to the club is filled with my friends questioning me about London, and catching me up on what has – and hasn't – happened while I was away. As I approach the club with the girls, I can feel the bass reverberating through my chest, setting my heart racing with anticipation.

I need a drink and a few hours on the dance floor to help me feel more like myself again.

The neon lights flashing outside cast an electrifying glow on the pavement, beckoning me closer with each step. The line of people waiting to get inside stretches around the block.

The mix of eager faces and excited chatter swirls around me. We are all waiting for our turn to step into the pulsating heart of the night.

Finally, it's our turn at the entrance. The bouncer gives me a nod, and I pass over the threshold, feeling myself instantly enveloped in a wave of sound and energy.

The music washes over me, filling the air with its infectious beat and I can't help but feel the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Inside, the club is a kaleidoscope of colors and movement. I notice some girls dancing on a stage, and I watch them for a moment, mesmerized by the way they move their bodies. I wonder for a moment what it would be like to be able to work as an exotic dancer.

What would it be like to be admired like that, to make money in tips each night that you could choose to spend on whatever you wanted to buy?

I've never lacked for anything in my life. My parents own a successful property investment company, and my brother and I have always lived in the lap of luxury. However, my parents treat me like a porcelain doll or some kind of knick-knack that should sit on a shelf and make the room more beautiful.

They always want to know when I'm going to settle down and start helping with country club events, fundraising, and good causes. They always ask when I'm going to find a nice man to marry.

As I watch the sinuous movements of the beautiful women grinding on the stage and swinging around the poles, I feel jealousy spark in my chest. I lean against the bar, my narrow chin cupped in my hand.

I watch the two women on the stage kiss and hear a loud cheer go up from the dancefloor. A shower of money lands on the stage and the women scoop it up and tuck it into their skimpy clothing.

"Drink?" one of the bartenders yells at me over the music.

"Rum and coke," I shout back. I push a twenty across the bar and the woman vanishes to get me my drink and my change. The dancers finish their set and drift off the stage and I turn away to watch the bartender making my drink and talking to a small group of attractive young guys clustered at the corner of the bar.

One of them sees me staring and winks at me. I smile back coyly, and then turn away. I don't want any male attention tonight. I just want to feel the groove and get a buzz on.

"Here you go," the bartender tells me as she brings back my change and my drink.

"Thanks," I say back, shoving the change into my clutch and moving out to the dance floor with my drink.

The dance floor is a sea of bodies, each one moving to the rhythm in its own unique way. Around me, people mingle and chat, their voices blending into the symphony of sound that fills the space. The girls I was with dispersed as soon as we arrived to find dancing partners. I rejoin a couple of my friends and cheer as we start dancing on one another.

There's something about letting go of control on the floor, my body moving almost on its own as I feel the music.

There's no one watching me here, no one expecting anything from me. I feel alive and free as the alcohol courses through my body and my worries slip away.

I've only been dancing for half of the song when I feel a man's arm slip around my waist. I swing myself around, ready to push off the intruder, but freeze when I come face to face with my ex-boyfriend, Guy.

Shit.

I must have forgotten to switch off his Find My Friends access, but I never thought that the psycho would follow me all the way to the US. I broke up with him two weeks before I left London, after he broke every plate in his cupboard because I forgot to tell him about a guy I was friends with in one of my classes.

He's not the cute kind of possessive; he's the dangerous kind. I should have been warned when I found out that he was a Scorpio, but I completely ignored those red flags that came with disastrous results.

I slip out of his hold and walk toward the door, clutching my bag tightly and ready to wave down the first cab I see. But Guy is right behind me, calling my name and trying to grab me. Once I'm outside, the fresh night air hits my face and fuels my bravery. I turn around to see Guy following me, a look of rage on his face.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I yell. A few people turn to look at me, but no one stops to see if I'm okay.

"I missed you." He's slurring his words, drunk already. How did he get to Chicago so quickly? "You promised you'd never leave me, Gi-Gi." That's not even my nickname. It's just what Guy calls me every time he drinks. I can tell he hasn't reached his limit yet because he's in his sweet-drunk phase.

Three more drinks and he'll be the angry menace that I ran from at two in the morning down the streets of London.

"You need to go home, Guy." My phone is in my bag, but I can't feel it with the fingers that I've slipped inside. If I can get hold of my brother, I might be able to have him come and pick me up without this becoming too much of a scene. My father would hate for me to cause a scene.

"No, I jussht neethd…" He grabs my arm and starts pulling me toward the road. He might be a pale and sweaty drunk, but he goes to the gym every day, and I know I'm not strong enough to fight him off.

"Stop it, Guy, get the fuck out of here!" I project my voice to scare him, but his grip on my arm tightens. I stay calm, still trying to get ahold of my phone with my free hand.

"Let go of her." A deep voice comes from the shadows. An arm attached to the voice grabs the back of Guy's neck and pulls him backward. Guy's eyes bulge as he lets go of my arm, stuttering and trying to convince the man holding onto him that there's nothing going on.

As a car drives past us, its lights illuminate the man standing in front of me. I get my first glimpse of the face of the hero who stepped up to save me.

He's tall, with dark hair that falls slightly around his eyes. His jaw is well-defined, although it looks like he's clenching it. I see his arm, too, which has a cluster of tattoos on it. I'm instantly curious about what they mean to him.

Guy is trying to tell the man that I'm his girlfriend and that it's none of his business. As strong as Guy is, he's also not an idiot. I know he isn't about to fight someone who is almost a foot taller than he is.

"She doesn't want to go with you, so I'd suggest you respect that. Get in a cab, leave, and don't come back," the voice says again, and Guy nods, whimpering. That grip on his neck must be harder than it looks.

The man waves down a cab and pushes Guy into it, slamming the door shut in his face. Then he turns and walks inside without saying a word to me.

"Wait!" I call after him, following him back into the hot and noisy club. He keeps his back to me, refusing to turn around.

"Hey!" I yell.

He swings around, his face in a scowl. I see a scar across his left cheek and one on his neck. They intrigue me more than the tattoos I saw on his forearms outside.

His eyes, even in the dimly lit club, are a striking blue, which is a stark contrast to the rest of his dark features. The almost glow in the dim light of the club, and I feel my heart skip a beat.

"I—" I've lost my ability to speak, which isn't normal for me. "I just wanted to thank you. He's an ex-boyfriend, and he—"

"Look, I was just doing my job as the owner of the club," the dark-haired mystery man cuts me off, and I stare at him in shock.

This isn't what I expected from someone who just saved me from being tormented by my ex. My brain catches on him saying that he's the owner of the club.

"I can still be grateful, can't I?" I say, lifting my head. I can give this guy his own attitude right back. "I was going to offer you a drink as a thank you, but I guess that's silly if you own the place."

He nods and turns away again.

I watch him walk away, shouldering through the crowd. His shoulders are broad enough that it's easy for him to push people out of the way. I admire the narrowness of his waist as he swivels to gently move a woman in a skimpy, skin-tight dress out of his way.

What the actual fuck was that even?

One of my friends that I came here with comes stumbling up to me, drunk and probably on something. She's giggling and trying to tell me a story of some guy she just hooked up with in the bathroom.

I'm not listening because I still have eyes on Mr.-I-don't-care. He's leaning against the bar, talking to one of the bartenders. A dancer passes by him, and he reaches out to touch her shoulder.

I'm surprised by his gentle touch on her body and he seems to be having a cordial conversation with her by the bar before she moves away.

My staring at the handsome owner of the bar is interrupted by my friend running to the bathroom to throw up. I look after her with a sigh.

That is not how I wanted to be spending my night. I bite my lip and look after the mysterious man who just saved me. Something dangerous weaves its way through my veins, and I grin.

I'm tired of being just boring, good-girl Gianna and I'm about to kill that part of my life off, for good.