Chapter 3

THREE

SIX YEARS LATER

T he ballroom of the West family's flagship hotel pulses with opulence and power, a gilded cage for the city's elite. Crystal chandeliers cascade from the vaulted ceiling, their light fracturing into a thousand glittering points across the sea of designer gowns and tailored suits.

The air is thick with the heady scent of wealth—expensive perfumes, aged whiskey, and the intangible musk of ambition. Even after so many years of learning how to be a strong woman, this scene makes me uncomfortable.

People. They're not my thing. It's funny how I am so at home with my Hacker Alliance connections and employees more than I am with family. My own parents don't know who I am. They just know I'm gifted. A genius when it comes to computers, software, numbers and pretty much anything technical.

My genius made my childhood difficult. Not everyone understands a little kid talking about creating my own Mydoom computer virus just for fun. My looks and ability to be a perfect young lady has kept my family on my side. My intelligence also helped our family wealth grow exponentially. Numbers are easy to me.

I stand at the periphery, a predator disguised as prey. My silver gray gown, a sheath of liquid silk, clings to every curve, its color a deliberate echo of his eyes. I adjust the pendant at my throat, an heirloom piece worth more than most people's homes. It's a calculated move, a subtle reminder of my lineage, my right to be here among the wolves in sheep's clothing. I glance down at the emerald ring on my finger. It's almost time.

My gaze cuts through the crowd like a scalpel, dissecting the scene with clinical precision. Every face is a mask, hiding desperation and greed behind champagne flutes and false smiles. I catalog each one, filing away weaknesses and potential leverage for future use. But they're not why I'm here. They're insignificant, mere obstacles between me and my true target.

And then I see him.

Hawk.

The air leaves my lungs in a rush as if I've been struck. He stands tall and commanding in a perfectly tailored black suit, the stark lines emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and the lean strength of his frame. Even from across the room, his presence is magnetic, drawing the eye and demanding attention.

He exudes danger from every pore. How could a man that magnetic even exist? The last time Hawk and I were in the same ballroom together is a night I will never forget.

A flurry of whispers ripples through the crowd as he moves, parting before him like the Red Sea. I drink in every detail, committing them to memory: the way his fingers curl around his glass, the subtle shift of muscle beneath his jacket as he turns, the sharp line of his jaw as he surveys the room with eyes the color of storm clouds.

Memories of my 18th birthday party flash unbidden through my mind. Hawk stepping in, his voice cold and cutting as he put Regina in her place, defending me from her vicious taunts. And afterward, my first time. It's been him and only him in my mind and heart. That day ignited something within me, a fascination that's only grown more intense with time. An obsession that's consumed my every waking moment for years.

I force myself to breathe, to maintain the calm facade I've spent years perfecting. I've learned a lot in the past six years. How to protect myself. How to speak up for myself. How to defend myself and be strong. But more than anything, how to take what I want. I take a breath again. But inside, I'm burning. Every cell in my body screams to go to him, to make him see me, recognize me. To claim what I've long since decided is mine.

Instead, I watch. I observe his interactions from afar, cataloging every subtle shift in his body language, every microexpression that crosses his face. The way his eyes narrow slightly when he's skeptical of what someone's saying. The almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw when he's annoyed but too polite to show it.

I've studied him for so long, I know his tells better than he does. His uncle and cousin try to get his attention, but I see him shut them down. His uncle's face pales and his cousin just stares at him in shock before they walk away. Poor bastards. Have they not realized there's a reason he's called the Devil?

A flash of red catches my eye, and I feel my entire body tense. Regina slinks up to Hawk, her blood-red gown a garish slash against the more muted tones around her. Her intentions are as transparent as the champagne in her glass—she leans in close, one manicured hand resting possessively on his arm.

Fury rises in me, hot and choking. That's my man she's touching. I visualize cutting off each of her fingers and feeding them to sharks. My hands itch to wrap around her throat, to tear her limb from limb for daring to touch what's mine. I take a sip of champagne to hide the snarl threatening to curl my lip, the delicate stem of the glass creaking in my white-knuckled grip.

But Hawk's response brings a wave of vicious satisfaction crashing over me. He shrugs off Regina's touch with a dismissal so cold it's practically glacial, leaving her standing alone and fuming. I savor her humiliation like a fine wine, letting it soothe the possessive rage still simmering beneath my skin.

As I relish Regina's defeat, the unthinkable happens. Hawk's steel-gray eyes lock onto mine from across the ballroom, and the world around us fades away. The cacophony of voices dulls to a distant hum as if I've been plunged underwater. Every detail sharpens with preternatural clarity—the clink of glasses, the rustle of silk, the faint notes of his cologne carried to me on an eddy of air. Does he remember the old me? I've changed from that innocent, shy girl. Can he see it?

For a moment, just a fraction of a second, I forget how to breathe. His gaze pins me in place, a butterfly on a board, exposed and vulnerable. I feel naked beneath the intensity of his stare as if he can see straight through the carefully constructed persona I present to the world, right down to the dark, obsessive core of me.

Recognition flashes across his face, quickly followed by something I can't quite identify—possession? curiosity? Before I can analyze it further, a guest intercepts him, shattering the moment. The spell breaks, sound and movement rushing back in a dizzying wave.

My heart pounds against my ribcage like a caged animal as I retreat behind a marble column, seeking refuge in the shadows. Does he truly recognize me after all these years? Is he expecting the old me? How will he react when he realizes I've changed? The thought sends a thrill of excitement coursing through me, followed quickly by a stab of panic. This isn't like me. I've learned a lot in six years. I'm always in control, always three steps ahead. Yet one look from Hawk has left me feeling exposed, my carefully laid plans teetering on the edge of chaos. Does he remember us?

I take a deep breath, forcing my racing thoughts into order. I need to recalibrate, to decide whether to make my presence known or continue observing from afar. The temptation to hack into the hotel's security feeds later tonight is strong—I could review every one of Hawk's interactions, dissecting each gesture and word until I've gleaned every possible scrap of information.

As I formulate my next move, movement near the bar catches my eye. Regina is speaking urgently to a waiter, her body language screaming of covert intentions. I watch as she slips something into a folded napkin, pressing it into the waiter's hand along with folded bills, giving him a meaningful look.

My eyes narrow, tracking the waiter's path through the crowd. He weaves between clusters of chattering guests, making a beeline for Hawk. Suspicion coils in my gut as I watch the waiter approach, presenting Hawk with a fresh drink on a silver tray.

Hawk takes the glass with a nod of thanks, bringing it to his lips. I lean forward, every muscle in my body tense as I watch him take a sip. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, almost imperceptibly, his confident posture begins to falter.

I watch, heart in my throat, as Hawk rubs his temple, blinking slowly. Confusion clouds his features, a furrow appears between his brows as he glances around the room. The realization hits me like a jolt of electricity: Regina has drugged him. My mind races through possibilities—a sedative? No, the way his pupils have dilated, the flush creeping up his neck... an aphrodisiac. She means to compromise him, to use his own body against him. Fucking bitch. She's truly despicable.

Time seems to slow as I weigh my options. Do I allow Regina's plan to unfold? Or do I intervene, protecting Hawk and potentially exposing myself in the process? The thought of letting her plan unfold makes me sick. Hawk is mine.

Regina sluices through the gathering toward him, ready to swoop in and take advantage of the opportunity.

The decision crystallizes in an instant, as clear and sharp as a diamond. I won't let Regina succeed, not when I've spent years cultivating my own carefully laid plans. Hawk Rivers is mine, and I'll be damned if I let that witch sink her claws into him.

I move swiftly through the crowd, my gown flowing around me like water. Guests part before me, sensing perhaps the predatory intent in my stride. I approach Hawk with measured steps, schooling my features into a mask of concern.

Several feet behind Hawk, Regina's eyes meet mine and she freezes, a scowl marring her expression. I continue forward, silently daring her to try to stop me.

"Mr. Rivers," I say, my voice steady and tinged with just the right amount of worry. "You don't look well. Let me help you." I offer my arm for support, meeting his unfocused gaze.

Hawk hesitates, and I see the struggle play out across his face. Even drugged, his instincts are sharp—he knows something isn't right. But the confusion wins out, and after a moment that feels like an eternity, he allows me to guide him.

The moment his hand closes around my arm, it's as if every nerve-ending in my body comes alive. His touch, even though the fabric of my gown, sends electricity arcing across my skin. I have to stifle a gasp, the intensity of my reaction catching me off guard. For years, I've dreamed of this moment, imagined what it would feel like to have Hawk depend on me, need me. The reality is so much more intoxicating than I could have ever anticipated.

Glancing back to see Regina glowering at us, I lead him toward a side door. Fuck, I missed him. I missed him so much. My 18th birthday party and our first night together replay in my mind like a constant reminder of what I've been waiting for. "Just a little farther," I murmur, my lips nearly brushing his ear. "I'm going to get you somewhere safe."

He turns his head slightly, his clouded gaze struggling to focus on me. "Is it you?"

A thrill runs through me at his words. Does he really recognize me? "It's me," I say softly, choosing my words carefully. "But that's not important right now. What matters is getting you out of here before anyone notices something's wrong."

We slip through the hotel side door and into the service hallways beyond. The difference is stark—gone are the glittering chandeliers and marble floors, replaced by harsh fluorescent lighting and utilitarian tile. But I navigate these back corridors with the same confidence I showed in the ballroom, my extensive research of the hotel's layout paying off.

Hawk leans more heavily against me as we walk, the drug clearly taking a stronger hold. I tighten my grip on him, hyperaware of every point of contact between us. He's massive and I struggle to keep him from falling into me. The solid warmth of his body pressed against my side, the flex of muscle beneath my fingers as I guide him around a corner. It's almost more than I can bear, this sudden proximity after years of watching from afar.

"Where... where are we going?" Hawk mumbles, his words slightly slurred.

"Somewhere safe," I repeat, my voice low and soothing. "Just trust me, Hawk. You know you can trust me, right?"

He's silent for a long moment, and I wonder if he's even heard me. But then he nods, just once, and something fierce and possessive unfurls in my chest. He trusts me. Maybe it's just the drug, maybe it's desperation, but in this moment, Hawk has placed his faith in me. It's intoxicating.

As we near an exit, movement at the end of the hallway catches my eye. Two men in dark suits, their stances screaming security , are scanning the area. I recognize them immediately as Regina's associates—no doubt waiting for Regina to arrive with a staggering Hawk in tow. Fuck. I can't let them take him.

My pulse quickens, but I maintain my composure, quickly diverting us down a back staircase. Hawk stumbles slightly on the first step, and I tighten my grip on his arm, supporting more of his weight.

"Careful," I murmur, guiding him down. "We're almost there. Just a little farther."

He nods, his jaw clenched with the effort of focusing on each step. Even drugged and vulnerable, there's a strength to him that takes my breath away. I want to stop and take his face in my hands and memorize every line and plane. To finally, finally touch him the way I've dreamed of for so long. I want to kiss him all over the place and bite my way down his body. The same way he did to mark me. But now isn't the time. We're not safe yet.

We emerge onto a quiet side street, the sounds of the city muffled and distant. I breathe a sigh of relief, quickly signaling to my driver. The sleek black sedan pulls up moments later, and I help Hawk into the back seat.

As I slide in beside him, I allow myself a small smile of triumph. We made it. Against all odds, I've rescued Hawk from Regina's clutches, and now he's here alone with me. The possibilities make my head spin.

"I'm taking you home," I tell him, my tone leaving no room for argument. "You'll be safe there."

Hawk's head lolls against the leather headrest, his eyes half-closed. I study his profile in the passing streetlights, drinking in every detail. The strong line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the faint shadow of stubble darkening his cheeks.

My fingers itch to trace the path my eyes are taking, to feel the heat of his skin beneath my touch. But I restrain myself, digging my nails into my palms. Now isn't the time for indulgence. I need to stay focused and maintain control of the situation.

"Why are you here?" Hawk's words are slightly slurred, but there's a sharpness beneath the confusion—a testament to his formidable will.

I consider my response carefully, weighing truth against fiction. "Because you need me," I say finally, my voice low and soothing. "Try to relax. We'll be at your home soon."

He struggles to focus on me, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Is it really you," he mumbles, reaching out to brush his fingers against my cheek.

His touch is like a brand, searing into my skin. I have to stifle a gasp, every nerve ending lighting up at the contact. For a moment, I let myself lean into his hand, savoring the feeling I've fantasized about for so long. But then reality reasserts itself, and I gently pull away.

"Let's get you feeling better," I deflect, trying to ignore the way my skin tingles where he touched me. "For now, just rest."

Hawk's eyes drift closed, his breathing growing steadier. I allow myself to relax slightly, knowing we're out of immediate danger. But my mind is already racing ahead, plotting our next moves. Tonight has set new pieces in motion on the chessboard of our intertwined lives. And I intend to use every advantage to ensure I come out on top. Hawk needs me. It's why I'm back. To claim what's mine and to help him.

As the car weaves through the late-night traffic, I can't help but feel a surge of anticipation. I've imagined being alone with Hawk for years, scheming countless scenarios. But this—having him vulnerable and dependent on me—this is beyond anything I could have orchestrated. The possibilities make my pulse quicken and my skin flush with heat.

I reach into my clutch, retrieving a small device. With a few taps, I activate a series of protocols designed to scrub any footage of our exit from the hotel's security systems. It's a precaution I always take, but tonight it feels especially crucial. No one can know about this encounter, not until I decide how best to use it to my advantage.

The city lights blur outside the window as we near Hawk's building. I steel myself for what's to come, knowing that every word, every action from this point forward could shape the course of our future interactions. The game has changed, and I'm determined to emerge victorious.

As we pull up to the private entrance of Hawk's luxury high-rise, I take a deep breath. This is it—the moment I step fully into Hawk's world, crossing a threshold I've only observed through my hacking of his security until now. I turn to him, finding his eyes open but glazed.

"We're here, Mr. Rivers," I say softly, unable to keep a hint of excitement from creeping into my voice. "Let's get you inside."

He nods, attempting to straighten but swaying slightly. I exit the car first, then lean in to help him out. The moment my hands touch him again, it's like a circuit completing. Energy hums beneath my skin, and I have to force myself to focus on the task at hand rather than getting lost in the feeling.

The doorman rushes forward, concern evident on his face. "Mr. Rivers! Are you all right, sir?"

I intercept smoothly before Hawk can respond, stepping slightly in front of him in a protective stance. "Mr. Rivers isn't feeling well," I say, my voice smooth and authoritative. "I'm a family friend, just making sure he gets home safely." I flash a reassuring smile, projecting an air of calm confidence that leaves no room for question.

The doorman hesitates, clearly torn between his duty to assist and his suspicion of a stranger. I press on, my voice taking on a hint of steel. "I assure you, everything is fine. Mr. Rivers would appreciate discretion in this matter."

Something in my tone must convince him because he nods and steps back. "Of course. Let me know if you need any assistance."

I guide Hawk to the private elevator, keeping a steadying hand on his arm. As the doors slide closed, shutting us off from prying eyes, I feel a rush of exhilaration. We're alone now, truly alone in a space I've only seen through hacked security feeds. The air feels charged, electric with possibility.

Hawk leans heavily against the elevator wall, his breathing noticeably heavier. His eyes, when they meet mine, are a whirl of confusion and something darker, more primal. I watch as he clenches his fists, his jaw tight with the effort of maintaining control.

"You knew exactly where to go," he says, his words slightly slurred but his gaze intent. "How?"

I keep my expression neutral even as my heart races. He's fighting the drug's effects, but I can see the battle playing out across his face. I need to tread carefully. "I've attended events at the hotel before," I say smoothly. "The layout isn't difficult to remember."

He studies me for a long moment, and I can almost see him trying to piece together the puzzle I present. But then his eyes drop to my lips, lingering there before he wrenches his gaze away, swallowing hard.

He takes a step toward me, then stops abruptly as if afraid of what he might do if he gets too close.

I consider my response carefully, knowing I can't reveal too much. Instead, I deflect, turning the focus back to him. "How are you feeling? Any dizziness? Nausea?"

He blinks, momentarily thrown by the change in subject. "I'm... I'm not sure," he admits, his voice rough. He runs a hand through his hair, the movement drawing my eye to the flex of muscle beneath his shirt. "Everything feels... intense."

As we step into Hawk's penthouse, a thrill of triumph courses through me. Months of planning, of maneuvering myself back into my family's social circles, have led to this moment. My presence at the gala wasn't chance—it was the carefully orchestrated next step in my grand design. Regina's clumsy attempt at manipulation has only served to accelerate my plans, gifting me an opportunity I couldn't have dreamed of.

I guide Hawk to the large leather couch dominating the living area, savoring every point of contact between us. As he sinks into the cushions, I notice the sheen of sweat on his brow, the flush creeping up his neck. The drug is taking a stronger hold, and the sight sends a surge of excitement through me.

"Water," I murmur, more to myself than to him. "You need water."

I move to the kitchen, my steps sure and confident. As I fill a glass from the tap, I hear a sharp intake of breath behind me. I turn to find Hawk standing in the kitchen doorway, his eyes dark with undisguised want. The naked desire in his gaze makes my breath catch.

"Devin," he says, his voice low and rough.

He takes a step toward me, then another, until he's close enough that I feel the heat radiating off his body. The way he says my name makes me giddy. My heart races, a mix of anticipation and triumph surging through me. This is what I've wanted for so long—Hawk Rivers, the object of my obsession, looking at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters.

"Mr. Rivers," I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. "You've been drugged. You need to drink this and rest."

I offer him the glass, but as he reaches for it, his fingers wrap around my wrist instead. The touch sends electricity arcing through me, and I can't stifle the small gasp that escapes me. Hawk's eyes darken at the sound.

"I don't want to rest," he murmurs, leaning in close. His breath ghosts across my cheek, sending shivers down my spine. "I want you. Fuck, I want you so much it hurts."

The raw need in his voice is intoxicating. I've dreamed of this for years, imagined countless scenarios where Hawk would look at me this way again. The reality is so much more intense, so much more exhilarating than anything I could have fantasized about.

"Mr. Rivers," I say softly, not pulling away despite knowing I should. "You're not yourself right now."

He laughs, a low, dark sound that sends heat pooling in my belly. "I've never felt more like myself," he says, his free hand coming up to cup my cheek.

I lean into his touch, unable to help myself. The feeling of his skin against mine is electric, addictive. For a moment, I let myself imagine giving in, taking what I've wanted for so long. But no—not like this. When I finally have Hawk Rivers, I want him fully aware, fully present.

With herculean effort, I gently extract myself from his grasp. "You need to rest," I tell him even as every fiber of my being screams to close the distance between us again.

Hawk's eyes narrow, a flash of his usual sharpness breaking through the drug's fog. "You're holding back," he accuses, following me as I retreat into the living room.

I back away, maintaining the illusion of propriety even as excitement thrums through me. This cat-and-mouse game, this dance of desire and restraint, is everything I've ever wanted. "No one ever tells everything, Mr. Rivers," I reply smoothly. "Especially not in our circles."

He stalks me across the room with a predatory grace that belies his intoxicated state. When my back hits the wall, he plants one hand beside my head, the other wrapping around my throat. The heat of him, the scent of his cologne mixed with the musk of his skin, is overwhelming.