Danielle groaned slightly as he shifted on the elegant couch in the living room, his hands covered in latex gloves soaked with blood and his shirt stained with it—blood that didn’t belong to him, but to one of his treacherous men. That bastard had given information to the police about his whereabouts, hoping for protection, maybe a reduced sentence, or simply to save his pathetic skin. But reality was different. How could a lapdog like him think he stood a chance against the devil incarnate? Against someone who had crawled out of the filthiest sewers of the city with a rotten soul but eyes fixed on the top? Danielle didn’t forgive—and especially not those who dared to defy him.

With a gasp, and without taking his eyes off the corpse lying on the marble floor, he inhaled a long line of cocaine from the glass table in front of the couch. The white powder vanished into his nose like part of a ritual that kept him awake—invincible. He felt the burn climb up his nose, igniting, awakening his foggy mind, bringing back that damned spark that gave him strength. He stood up with hellfire coursing through his veins, staggering slightly, and walked to the bar to pour himself two fingers of liquor, downing it in one gulp like he needed to put out the fire rising inside him.

His eyes remained locked on the person in front of him, tied to one of the wooden dining chairs, wrists bruised from the cuffs and face drenched in sweat and blood. Fragile in appearance, but deep down, he knew what she really was: a beast in sheep’s clothing. Drugged by him with surgical precision to keep her in a limbo of consciousness. She wasn’t just anyone. She was the police agent who had been after him for months, the one who led undercover operations trying to catch him, the one who had almost gotten him once in a raid—and now, she was right in front of him, completely vulnerable. And most importantly, she was her. Danielle’s damned nightmare.

The woman who wouldn’t leave his mind. The one who shared that special bond with the only man who had ever shaken him: Karl. That damned hacker who dismantled his network like a house of cards, exposed his political allies, his shipments, his contacts, and still had the nerve to play the hero. And worst of all: he also held the affection of the agent, the one person Danielle wanted for himself.

“Everything I am, everything I’ve done, what it cost me to build this empire of blood and metal... and he, with his fingers on a keyboard, thinks he can destroy it all. And you? You still defend that bastard like he’s your savior,” Danielle spat while refilling his glass, this time drinking more slowly, savoring the alcohol as he stared at her.

Danielle had been watching the agent’s every move for years. Since the first time their paths crossed at that old train station, where she barely looked at him, not knowing he had already marked her. She had never found direct evidence against him, and though they crossed paths several times during missions or investigations, she never suspected her most dangerous enemy had been protecting her all along. That he had manipulated missions, diverted bullets, eliminated threats around her. That he had left false leads just so she’d follow them—so she’d stay close. And still, she saw him as just another shadow in the night, not knowing he guarded her like a treasure—with jealousy, with rage, with a sick obsession.

“And to think you were one of the few I still cared about,” he muttered with a low chuckle as he took another sip. “A legend among agents. Untouchable, incorruptible, impossible to catch... but so fucking perfect you were worth the risk. Even though you never knew I’d already chosen you.”

Approaching her slowly, Danielle held the whiskey glass and brought it to her nose gently, letting the strong scent help her regain consciousness. He crouched in front of her and, with his other hand, brushed a strand of hair from her face with disturbing tenderness, tilting his head to admire each of her features.

He noticed every mole, every freckle, the natural pout of her lips, the curve of her lashes. His fingers stopped at the tip of her nose, barely grazing it before tucking her hair behind her ear as if this wasn’t a scene straight from hell. “Wake up, little bird. Your nap is dragging on, and honestly... patience is the last thing I have right now,” he murmured in a deep, rough voice, letting each word echo in the silence of the room.

His fingers slid down her neck slowly, tangling in the hair at her nape, pulling firmly but not hard enough to hurt. He wanted her to open her eyes, to see him, to recognize him. And when she did—when those fire-filled eyes met his—a crooked, satisfied, wicked smile appeared on his face.

“There you are... those beautiful untamable eyes,” he whispered, bringing his face closer to brush his nose against the skin of her neck. “I was getting tired of your cat-and-mouse game, you know? But still... I couldn’t help but let you run. I liked watching you fight, watching you think you were one step ahead, when you were always right where I wanted you.”

He placed the glass on the polished floor, resting his hand on his knee, staining his jeans with blood. With his teeth, he removed the dirty glove and let it fall, not caring about the red smear it left on the ground. He grabbed her face with his bare hand, lifting it with a forced delicacy. “You know what’s fucked up about all this? That even now, so broken, so perfectly fucked... you still believe he’ll come for you. That Karl will rescue you like some digital prince.” His tone turned mocking, almost resentful.

Leaning away slightly, he kept his eyes locked on her before picking up the glass of whiskey. “But no, darling. Not tonight. Tonight, no one’s coming. Because tonight, you and I are going to have a very intimate conversation.” He leaned in, bringing the glass to her lips with calm. “Drink it. It’ll help with the headache. You’ll need to be lucid. You won’t sleep tonight... and I don’t want you passing out mid-conversation.”

When she turned her head away violently, refusing to drink, Danielle let out a low, hoarse laugh, filled with cynicism. “I see you don’t take drinks from men with interest, huh? I bet it’s because of that idiot on your team, right? Tell me... does it excite you to be his secret? Do you like that he hides you like a one-night stand?”

He placed the glass aside with a thud, resting both hands on his knees, his stare like knives. “Did you know he has a girlfriend? A whole life set up away from you. And what are you, huh? The shadow that warms his bed between missions? You must be really stupid to believe his lies.”

He leaned in even closer, his words hitting like velvet-wrapped fists. “Or maybe you’re really brave to risk your job... or just very naive to believe every word out of his mouth. But we’re not here to talk about him anymore.”

He grabbed her chin firmly, forcing her to look him straight in the eyes. “Now I want you to tell me something, sweetheart... I want you to tell me why the detective walked into one of my warehouses alone, like a mouse in a trap. What were you expecting to find there, huh? Me? Did you think you could capture me? Or did you just want to feel close to me again without admitting it?”

His smile widened with perversion, but his gaze burned with fire and rage. “Did you really think I didn’t know? Thought you could walk into my domain like a wolf among sheep? No, love. You walked straight into the wolf’s mouth... mine.” Danielle let out a rough laugh, shaking his head. “Do you get it now? You’re not here by chance. You’re here because I wanted it. Because I planned it. Because I want to see you up close. Because I want you to look at me... and see who really runs this game.”