Chapter 2 — Welcome to The Velvet Ember

Drake

The Velvet Ember was its own kind of beast—seductive, enigmatic, and carefully curated to exude power. Tonight was no different. The lounge hummed with the subdued energy of quiet negotiations and whispered promises. I arrived early, as always. Control demanded preparation, and in a place like this, vigilance was second nature.

The space was a study in contrasts: dim lighting softened the sharp edges of black marble and crimson velvet, while a live jazz band played a sultry tune that barely rose above the low murmur of voices. The scent of polished leather and faint traces of cigar smoke mingled with expensive perfumes. Every detail was deliberate, every shadow a choice. From my usual table tucked in the corner, I had a clear view of the room, though I remained partially hidden in the low light. This was my stage, and I was both the director and the audience.

Victor was absent, which was no surprise. Subtlety wasn’t his style. He preferred grand entrances and louder disruptions, his smirk lingering like the aftertaste of cheap wine. No, tonight wasn’t about him. My attention was elsewhere—even if I hadn’t fully admitted it to myself yet.

Allegra slid into the booth across from me, her emerald-green eyes sparkling with amusement as she set her martini glass down with a deliberate clink. She crossed her legs with practiced elegance, her auburn hair catching the light like a polished blade.

“You’re brooding again,” she said, her voice laced with teasing reproach.

“Thinking,” I corrected, swirling the whiskey in my glass.

“Thinking, brooding—same difference with you.” Her smile was sharp, knowing. Allegra had a knack for reading people, weaving herself into their blind spots with unnerving precision. It was one of the reasons she’d lasted so long in my world. “So, who has you wound up tonight?”

Before I could respond—or dismiss her—the doors opened. The room didn’t fall silent, but the faint hitch in its rhythm was unmistakable, like the held breath before a performance began. And there she was.

Solana Rivera.

I’d read the reports. The fallout from Vegas. Betrayal. A career unraveled. But none of that prepared me for the woman who stepped into The Velvet Ember. She moved with deliberate precision, her hazel eyes scanning the room as though cataloging each person and every detail. Power clung to her—not the kind cultivated through wealth or influence, but something raw, unyielding. She didn’t seek approval. She commanded respect.

Her fitted blazer and dark jeans walked the line between practicality and sophistication, her long, dark waves softening the sharpness of her posture. A deliberate choice, no doubt. But it wasn’t her appearance that held my attention. It was the tension in her movements, the quiet defiance in her eyes. She carried herself like someone who’d been broken once but had pieced herself back together with steel and fire. It was a language I understood.

“Ah,” Allegra murmured, her gaze following mine. “So that’s why you’ve been restless.”

“I don’t get restless,” I replied, though the words felt unconvincing even to me.

“Of course not,” she said, smirking as she sipped her drink. “But I’d tread carefully with that one. She looks like she bites.”

Good. I preferred a challenge.

Solana’s gaze swept the room, and when her eyes locked onto mine, there was no pretense. Her stare was sharp, unflinching, and entirely disinterested in whatever power I thought I held. I didn’t look away. Instead, I tilted my head slightly, offering a faint, measured smile. Her expression didn’t shift, but her eyes lingered just long enough to suggest she’d noted the gesture—and dismissed it.

She turned, her back to me, and for a moment, I thought she’d walk away. Leave me to my theater and my whiskey. But then, with a slight pause, she pivoted on her heel and strode toward my table. The clicking of her heels against the marble floor was deliberate, each step echoing with purpose.

When she reached me, she didn’t sit. Instead, she leaned lightly against the edge of the table, her arms crossed over her chest. The position was casual, but the sharp line of her jaw and the defiance in her hazel eyes told another story.

“You’re Drake Blackhorne,” she said, her tone flat, unwavering.

“And you’re Solana Rivera,” I replied, lifting my glass in a silent toast. “Though I’m sure you already knew that.”

Her eyes flicked over me—cool, detached, assessing. “I did my research. What I didn’t expect was... this.” She gestured vaguely to the room, her lips curving into a sardonic smile.

“And what exactly did you expect?” I asked, intrigued despite myself.

“Something colder,” she replied, her voice laced with dry humor. “More calculated. This place feels... theatrical.”

Allegra chuckled softly, but I ignored her, my attention fixed on Solana. “Theatrics have their uses,” I said, gesturing to the seat across from me. “But they’re only a distraction. The real power lies in what happens behind the curtains.”

Her lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close. Still, she didn’t move. “And where do you fit into that equation?”

I leaned back with calculated ease. “I own the theater.”

She didn’t flinch, but the faintest flicker of amusement crossed her features. “Must be nice,” she said, her tone sharp with sarcasm. “Owning the stage. Controlling the players. But let me save you some time, Mr. Blackhorne—I’m not one of them.”

“Good,” I said, my voice low. “I find players tiresome.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she leaned in just enough to lower her voice, her words cutting through the noise like a blade. “I’m not here to be impressed by wealth or power. And I’m not looking to be saved, bought, or manipulated. Whatever it is you think you can offer me, I’m not interested.”

Her defiance was as sharp as her tone, but beneath it, I caught a flicker of something else. Something raw and unspoken. She was guarding herself. I recognized the stance—the carefully constructed walls, the deliberate detachment. I’d lived behind those same walls for years.

“Fair enough,” I said, setting my glass down with deliberate precision. “But I think you underestimate yourself.”

Her brows knit together, just for a moment. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” I said, my voice soft but steady, “that you’re here. In my world. Whether you like it or not, that says something. About you. About what you’re willing to do.”

For a moment, I thought she might respond, but Allegra chose that moment to interject, her tone light and amused. “Play nice, you two. You’re scaring the other patrons.”

Solana’s gaze shifted to Allegra, her expression unreadable. After a beat, she nodded slightly, acknowledging her without engaging further. Then, she turned back to me.

“I’ll leave you to your theatrics,” she said, stepping away from the table. Her tone was neutral, but her eyes lingered on mine just long enough to unsettle something deep within me.

I watched her as she walked away, the tension in her shoulders a quiet defiance that refused to be ignored. She was different. Not a player. Not a pawn. She was something else entirely. And for the first time in a long time, I felt the faintest stir of uncertainty.

Allegra’s voice cut through my thoughts, low and amused. “Careful, Drake. That one might just bite.”

I smirked, though it felt faintly hollow. “Let her. I’ve been bitten before.”

Still, as I drained the last of my whiskey, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Solana Rivera wasn’t just a complication. She was a threat. And threats, I’d learned, were worth pursuing.