Chapter Three

RAYA

The days leading up to Saturday night had been a whirlwind of emotions and conflicting thoughts. Meeting Maxwell Evans in the VIP room at Sweet Cocktails had changed everything. His presence had been overwhelming, a magnetic force that drew me in even as every instinct screamed for me to stay away. I wasn't just playing with fire; I was diving headfirst into an inferno.

I couldn't deny the attraction I felt for him, but I had to remember my mission. Burt Stamford had made it clear that Maxwell was dangerous, and I wondered if he could be connected to a major drug cartel. Yet, the man I'd met at Sweet Cocktails was proving to be more than just a suspect. He was enigmatic, alluring, and guarded in a way that only heightened my curiosity. I remembered his gaze, heavy with intention, as I served him the raspberry martini that had made me somewhat of an urban legend. It was like he knew there was more to me than met the eye, as if he could see straight through the bartender facade to the woman on a dangerous quest for truth.

"Focus, Raya," I muttered to myself, shaking off the memory. He intrigued me, this man of shadows, with his dark skin and mysterious accent that danced around my curiosity. I couldn't quite place it, and that only added to the enigma. But tonight wasn't about indulging intrigue; it was about getting closer to whatever Maxwell was hiding behind those chocolate, knowing eyes. There was a softness in his eyes that contrasted sharply with his hardened exterior, making me wonder if there was more to him than what Burt had led me to believe. Or whether I was just being na?ve, letting physical desire cloud my judgment. I'd learned to be smarter than that, and I wasn't about to let a man get the upper hand now.

I had to keep my head in the game. This wasn't just about me; it was about finding the truth. The fact that Maxwell was sending a car for me on Saturday night only added to the sense of increasing danger and resulting determination I felt with each passing day. When I received his text, my heart skipped a beat. The man knew where I lived—Of course, he did. A man like Maxwell Evans had the resources to find out anything he wanted, but the thought that he had taken the time to know this detail made my pulse quicken with both excitement and fear.

As I stood in front of my closet, trying to decide what to wear, my thoughts were a jumbled mess. He'd mentioned showing me the raspberry bushes on his land—a sly smile tugged at my lips since of course I already knew exactly where they were. Or was he already aware of that and intending to taunt me with the knowledge? Or punish me? If that were the case, however, he could have turned me over to the authorities weeks ago. Instead, he'd invited me to join him for dinner. That meant there was more to it than that.

After what felt like an eternity, I settled on a summer dress. It was elegant and light, its hue somewhere between peach and pink that contrasted nicely with my olive complexion. It flowed gracefully around my legs, cinching at the waist to highlight my curves. I wanted to appear sophisticated but not too eager, like I was dressing up for myself, not for him. But as I caught a glimpse of my reflection, my gaze lingered on the snake tattoos winding up my arms. They were a reminder of the past I was trying so hard to leave behind. A past that had left me with scars, both visible and hidden.

For a moment, I considered leaving them uncovered, letting Maxwell see the real me on display. But then, the old insecurities crept in. These tattoos were a part of who I was, but they didn't fit the image I was trying to project tonight. With a sigh, I draped a light summer wrap over my shoulders, concealing the inked serpents beneath the fabric. It was a futile attempt, really—my scars ran much deeper than skin.

I was relieved that Trina was working the closing shift at the bar tonight and wouldn't be home to ask questions. The fewer people who knew about this, the better. I'd told her I had a date and not to wait up if I wasn't home by the time she finished her shift. The truth was, I had no idea what tonight would bring, and I didn't want to make any promises I couldn't keep.

When Maxwell's driver arrived promptly at 6 pm, I felt a flutter of nerves in my stomach. The man was enormous, towering over me even though I was wearing heels. He was dressed in a tailored suit and wore dark glasses, with an earpiece tucked discreetly into his ear. His expression was unreadable, and he spoke only a brief greeting as he opened the door of the black Escalade with blacked-out windows. The vehicle itself was imposing, its sleek exterior giving off an air of power and secrecy.

As I climbed inside, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was stepping into something far bigger than myself. The door closed behind me with a solid thud, sealing me inside the luxury of dark leather seats and soft lighting. The driver didn't say a word as we pulled away from my apartment building, the city lights fading into the distance as we drove toward the outskirts of Orange County.

The drive was smooth and silent, the kind of silence that leaves too much room for thoughts to run wild. I twisted my fingers together with nervous energy, trying to focus on the mission and reminding myself of the questions I needed to ask, the information I needed to gather. But all I could think about was Maxwell—his deep, melodic voice, the way his accent hinted at something foreign and exotic. It was a blend of something rich and rhythmic, perhaps Spanish with an undertone of something else and I wondered about his origins for the millionth time.

After what felt like an eternity, we arrived at the gates of Maxwell's estate. Tall, thick green hedges lined the perimeter, blocking any view of what lay beyond. The gates were imposing, made of wrought iron and flanked by security personnel who were armed and alert. As the driver rolled down his window, I noticed the high-tech security system, cameras tracking our every move, and the guards scanning our faces, their own devoid of expression. Everything about this place screamed wealth and power, but also a sense of isolation—a fortress to keep the outside world at bay.

The gates opened smoothly, and we drove up a long, winding driveway that cut through manicured lawns and lush gardens. The mansion that came into view was breathtaking, an architectural masterpiece that looked more like a palace than a home. It was grand, with sprawling terraces and large windows that gleamed in the evening light. The circular drive in front of the entrance was lined with carefully pruned trees, their branches casting long shadows over the cobblestones.

The driver pulled to a stop, and I took a deep breath before stepping out of the car. My heart was racing, but I forced myself to remain calm, to keep the mask of confidence firmly in place. As I looked up, Maxwell was already there, standing at the top of the steps that led to the front door. He was dressed in light summer linen pants and an open shirt that accentuated his broad chest and muscular frame. Everything about him spoke of effortless elegance and supreme control, from the way he moved to the way he held my gaze.

"Raya," he said with a smile, his voice sending a shiver of electricity down my spine. "You look lovely."

"Thank you," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "Your home is incredible."

He descended the steps to meet me, taking my hand in his. The touch was brief but electrifying, and I was close enough to smell his spicy masculine scent that instantly ratcheted up the invisible heat between us. "I'm glad you could join me," he said, his eyes never leaving mine.

The estate was even more magnificent up close, each detail meticulously crafted to exude both luxury and timelessness. The scents of jasmine and honeysuckle filled the air, and in the distance, I could hear the faint trickle of a bubbling fountain.

"I thought we'd start with a tour of the property," Maxwell said, leading me down a stone path that wound through the gardens. "There's something I'd like to show you."

I nodded, trying to maintain my composure, even as the anticipation built inside me. It was impossible not to be captivated by the sheer opulence of the estate, but I had to remind myself that I wasn't here to admire the scenery. I was here for a reason, and I couldn't afford to lose sight of that.

As we walked, the sound of hooves clattering against stone drew my attention. I turned to see an open carriage being drawn by two magnificent horses. The carriage was elegant, with polished wood and brass accents, and it seemed like something out of a fairy tale.

Maxwell turned to me, his smile widening as he took in my expression of surprise. "I thought we'd take a ride through the fields," he said. "It's a beautiful evening, and the view is even better from the carriage."

A female server dressed in a starched white shirt, black slacks, and low heels appeared with two glasses of wine, which we accepted before climbing into the carriage. The seat was plush and comfortable, and as the horses began to move, I felt a thrill of excitement. The evening air was warm and there was a light breeze, the perfect setting for what felt like a scene from a movie.

Maxwell sat close beside me, his presence both comforting and intimidating. The carriage ride gave us the perfect opportunity to engage in conversation, but I knew I had to be careful with my words. This was my chance to gather information, but Maxwell was no fool. He would see through any attempt to pry too deeply, so I had to tread lightly.

"So, tell me, Maxwell," I began, swirling the wine in my glass. "Where are you from? Your accent..it's intriguing. I can't quite place it."

He smiled, taking a sip of his wine before responding. "I've lived in many places," he said, his tone deliberately vague. "But I spent a good portion of my childhood in the Dominican Republic. My mother was Dominican, and my father was Nigerian. I suppose that's where my accent comes from—a blend of cultures."

The revelation caught me off guard, and I found myself even more fascinated by him. He was a man of many layers, each one more intriguing than the last. But I couldn't let myself get too caught up in his charm. I had to stay focused.

"And you, Raya?" he asked, turning the conversation back to me. "What brought you to Orange County?"

I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. "I needed a fresh start," I said, keeping my voice light. "Texas wasn't exactly the place for me anymore."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly curious, but he didn't press further. Instead, he took another sip of his wine, his gaze drifting out over the fields as we rode along. "A fresh start," he murmured, almost to himself. "Sometimes, that's exactly what we need."

The conversation continued, a dance of words and subtle deflections. We both answered just enough to keep the other interested, but not enough to reveal too much. It was a battle of wits, and I found myself enjoying it more than I expected. There was something thrilling about matching my mind against his, even as the sexual tension between us simmered just beneath the surface.

As the sun began to set, casting the sky in ribbons of orange and pink, we returned to the estate. Maxwell led me along a winding landscaped path and series of short staircases that wrapped around the main house to a terrace along the back of the property. The architecture seemed to blend the finest luxury with the raw beauty of nature seamlessly. The floor beneath my feet was cool, smooth stone, polished to a soft sheen. Beyond the terrace lay an infinity pool, its surface shimmering like liquid glass. The water spilled over the edge, giving the illusion that it flowed straight into the canyon below. The view was breathtaking—stark cliffs and rugged landscape bathed in the golden light of the setting sun.

In the center of the terrace was a small table set for two, intimate and elegant. The tablecloth was white, crisp, and pristine, with a lace trim that fluttered lightly in the breeze. A simple centerpiece of deep red and purple flowers sat in the middle, their scent just barely noticeable, adding a touch of sweetness to the air. The place settings were impeccable—fine china edged in gold, silverware perfectly aligned, and crystal glasses that sparkled in the fading sunlight.

Maxwell pulled out my chair for me, his hand resting on the back of it for just a moment longer than necessary as I sat down. I could feel his presence, close and warm, and my pulse quickened. There was something about the way he moved, a graceful confidence that made me feel both drawn to him and wary all at once.

As soon as I settled into my seat, a server appeared, dressed in a sharp black suit, moving with a precision that spoke of years of experience. He set down the first course in front of us—a foie gras terrine with a slice of toasted brioche and fig chutney on the side. The dish looked almost too beautiful to eat, but as I took my first bite, the richness of the foie gras, balanced by the sweetness of the figs, melted in my mouth. The flavors were decadent, sophisticated—a perfect start to the meal. I'd never eaten like this before, and the experience tantalized my senses in a way I'd never known was possible.

The server returned with the second course, seared scallops resting on a bed of creamy cauliflower puree, drizzled with truffle oil. The scallops were cooked perfectly, their golden-brown crust giving way to a tender, buttery interior that practically dissolved on my tongue. The earthiness of the truffle oil added depth to the dish, making each bite more luxurious than the last.

For the main course, they brought out a perfectly grilled filet mignon, drizzled with a rich red wine reduction and served with roasted baby vegetables and a creamy potato gratin. The steak was so tender that I barely had to use my knife to cut it, the flavor so intense that I savored every bite. I could feel Maxwell watching me as I ate, his eyes dark and intense, like he was trying to read my thoughts, to uncover whatever secrets I might be hiding.

As we dined, the sun dipped lower in the sky, turning the canyon into a canvas of amber and rose. Maxwell poured us both a glass of deep red wine, its aroma rich with dark fruit and spice, perfectly complementing the meal. Everything about this dinner—the setting, the food, the wine—was designed to impress, and to disarm. I'd been planted in another world, one where luxury and indulgence were the norm. It would be all too easy to be swept away in the dream if I wasn't careful. This dinner was more than just a meal. It was a test, a game, and Maxwell was playing it masterfully. I just hoped I could keep up.

I excused myself to go to the bathroom, and a sense of unease settled over me. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this evening than what Maxwell was showing me. And as I made my way down the dimly lit hallway, that feeling only grew stronger.

It was then that I noticed something strange—a loose floorboard near the base of the wall. At first, I hesitated, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. But the curiosity was too strong to ignore. I crouched down, carefully prying the board up with my fingers, revealing a hidden compartment beneath. My heart pounded as I reached inside, pulling out a small key.

There was a door nearby, one I hadn't noticed before. It was almost hidden in the shadows, blending seamlessly with the wall. With trembling hands, I tried the key in the lock. It turned easily, the door creaking open to reveal a narrow staircase leading down into darkness.

I knew I shouldn't go down there. Every instinct was telling me to turn back, to leave this alone. But the need to know, to find out what Maxwell was hiding, was too strong. I took a deep breath and descended the stairs, each step echoing in the confined space.

At the bottom, I found myself in a small, dimly lit room. The air was cool and slightly musty, the scent of old books filling my nostrils. Shelves lined the walls, filled with documents, photographs, and other items that seemed out of place in a mansion like this. I moved cautiously, my eyes scanning the contents for anything that might give me a clue about Maxwell's true nature.

There were ledgers with numbers I couldn't quite make sense of, photographs of people I didn't recognize, and maps marked with locations that seemed random at first glance. But as I pieced it together, a pattern began to emerge. These were more than just random items—they were pieces of a puzzle, one that hinted at something much larger and more dangerous than I had anticipated. I wished I had my phone, but it was back at the table in my clutch. I was kicking myself for leaving it behind. I couldn't take pictures, couldn't document what I was seeing. All I could do was try to remember as much as possible, to commit every detail to memory.

As I sifted through the papers, I lost track of time. The sound of distant footsteps brought me back to reality, the noise growing closer with each passing second. Panic surged through me as I realized someone was coming. I had to get out of here, but the room was small, with no obvious place to hide.

Thinking quickly, I ducked behind a bookshelf, pressing myself against the wall as tightly as possible. The footsteps grew louder, and I held my breath, praying that whoever it was wouldn't find me.

The door creaked open, and I peered through a small gap between the books. It was Alejandro, who I remembered from Sweet Cocktails as Maxwell's right-hand man. He was scanning the room, his eyes sharp and calculating. For a moment, I thought he might have seen me, but then he turned away, moving to inspect something on the other side of the room.

My heart was pounding so hard I was afraid he would hear it. I had to get out of here before he found me. But I couldn't move, couldn't risk making a sound. I watched in terror as Alejandro moved about the room, seemingly oblivious to my presence.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he turned and left, closing the door behind him. I waited a few more seconds, just to be sure, before slipping out from behind the bookshelf. My hands were shaking as I carefully retraced my steps, making sure to leave no trace of my presence.

When I emerged back into the hallway, I took a moment to compose myself. My heart was still racing, and I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I knew I had been incredibly lucky, but I couldn't let my guard down. I had to be more careful from now on.

As I made my way back to the terrace, I couldn't help but reflect on what had just happened. I had uncovered something, but I wasn't sure what it all meant yet. There were pieces of the puzzle, but they were still too scattered to form a clear picture. But one thing was certain—Maxwell was hiding something, and I was more determined than ever to find out what it was.

I rejoined Maxwell at the table, hoping he wouldn't notice the change in my demeanor. As I sat down, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was playing a dangerous game, one that could end very badly if I wasn't careful. But despite the risks, I couldn't walk away now. I was in too deep, and there was no turning back.