CHAPTER 1
The soft hum of the city barely reached Sienna’s ears as she woke to the golden glow of sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains of her apartment. The crisp scent of fresh linen surrounded her as she stretched, pushing the silk sheets away from her body. Blinking the last remnants of sleep from her eyes, she turned her head toward the digital clock on her nightstand—11:00 AM.
She had slept longer than she planned, but then again, late-night shifts at Velvet Noir had that effect on her.
With a sigh, she slipped out of bed, the cool hardwood floor beneath her feet grounding her. Morning routines were always the same—coffee first. Padding across her spacious apartment, she walked into her sleek, modern kitchen and turned on the espresso machine. As the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, she grabbed a mug and leaned against the counter, gazing out the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased the city skyline.
Her life had changed drastically in the past two years. Losing her parents in a sudden accident had left a hollow ache in her chest, but it had also left her with enough money to build a life on her terms. She had bought this apartment—far more space than one person needed, but it was hers. A sanctuary where no one could touch her.
After finishing her coffee, she went through her daily routine—showering, throwing on a pair of yoga pants and a sports bra, and heading to the private gym in her apartment for an hour-long workout. The rhythmic pounding of her feet against the treadmill, the stretch and pull of her muscles—it all worked to clear her mind.
By the time the afternoon rolled in, she was freshly showered and curled up on the couch, flipping through a book she had started weeks ago but never finished. The hours passed in a comfortable blur until her alarm buzzed, signaling the start of her night.
Time to get ready for work.
Sienna moved to her walk-in closet, her fingers grazing over the collection of outfits until she settled on a fitted black dress that hugged her curves but gave her enough mobility to move around behind the bar. She paired it with black ankle boots, simple jewelry, and a touch of makeup that accentuated her sharp features. Her dark hair, left in soft waves, cascaded down her back as she grabbed her coat and keys before stepping out.
The city was alive with energy as she navigated through the streets, her heels clicking against the pavement. By the time she reached Velvet Noir, the line outside was already long, a mix of eager patrons waiting to get in. The club was one of the most exclusive in the city, and the man who owned it—Damian Laurent—was just as much of a mystery as the establishment itself.
Sienna walked past the long queue outside Velvet Noir, flashing a nod to the bouncers as they stepped aside to let her in. The moment she entered, the deep bass of the music vibrated through the floor, wrapping around her like a living pulse. The club was already filling up, bathed in dim red and gold lighting, the air thick with the scent of expensive liquor, sweat, and something more intoxicating—anticipation.
She made her way toward the bar, weaving through groups of well-dressed patrons who had already lost themselves in the night. As she stepped behind the counter, Marco, one of the other bartenders, leaned against the back shelf, nursing an energy drink like his life depended on it.
“Sienna,” he greeted with a lazy smirk. “Looking deadly as always.”
She rolled her eyes, tying her apron around her waist. “And you look like you just rolled out of bed.”
“Guilty,” he chuckled, running a hand through his messy blond hair. “Some of us don’t get beauty sleep in a penthouse, princess.”
She scoffed. “You say that like you don’t have a pretty cushy setup yourself.”
“Yeah, but mine’s a shoebox compared to yours.” He took another sip of his drink before grinning. “So, any plans after work? Or are you going home to sip wine on your ridiculously overpriced balcony?”
Sienna grabbed a clean glass and started polishing it. “Tempting, but no. I might just pass out the second I get home.”
“You never go out after your shift.”
“Neither do you.”
“That’s different,” Marco said, pointing at her with his drink. “I have an excuse. I hate people.”
Sienna smirked. “And I don’t?”
“You’re just pretending.”
She laughed but didn’t argue. He wasn’t entirely wrong. She liked the club, the noise, the anonymity of blending into the background, but she wasn’t one to get lost in the crowd. She was always watching, always aware.
Marco pushed off the counter. “Alright, let’s get to work. It’s about to get busy.”
And just like that, the night began.
—
As the hours passed, the bar became a storm of movement—shaking cocktails, pouring shots, dodging drunken hands reaching too far over the counter. Sienna worked with practiced ease, serving drinks without missing a beat.
A group of women approached, dressed in shimmering dresses that clung to their bodies like second skin. One of them, a brunette with striking green eyes, leaned over the bar, her red lips pulling into a coy smile.
“What can I get you?” Sienna asked.
The brunette tapped a manicured nail against her chin. “Surprise me.”
Sienna arched a brow. “You don’t look like the type to enjoy surprises.”
The woman’s smile widened. “I might make an exception.”
Sienna smirked, grabbing a bottle of vodka and beginning to mix a custom cocktail. The woman watched her with interest, eyes trailing over her movements.
“So, do you flirt with all your customers, or am I just special?”
Sienna chuckled. “I just know how to read people.”
“Oh?” The brunette leaned in. “And what do you read about me?”
Sienna slid the finished cocktail across the bar. “You like control. You’re used to getting what you want, and you don’t like waiting for it.”
The woman picked up the drink, intrigued. “And what if you’re wrong?”
Sienna rested her hands on the counter. “Then you wouldn’t have let me finish making the drink. You would’ve told me exactly what you wanted the second you walked up.”
A slow smile curved the brunette’s lips. “I like you.”
Sienna shrugged. “Most people do.”
The woman laughed, raising her glass in a silent toast before taking a sip. Her eyes widened slightly as the flavors hit her tongue. “Damn. You really do know how to read people.”
“I try.”
The woman winked before turning back to her group, leaving Sienna to move on to the next customer.
—
A while later, a man slammed his empty glass onto the counter, getting her attention. He was in his late forties, well-dressed but with the glassy-eyed look of someone who had gone one drink too far.
“Another,” he demanded.
Sienna took the glass but didn’t pour. “I think you’ve had enough for now.”
His expression darkened. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve had four double whiskeys in less than an hour.” She remained calm, meeting his eyes without hesitation. “How about some water?”
The man scoffed. “I’m paying, aren’t I?”
“And I have the right to cut you off,” she replied smoothly. “It’s house policy.”
His jaw clenched, but before he could argue, Marco stepped in. “Problem here?”
The man glanced at Marco, then back at Sienna, irritation flickering in his gaze. With a grunt, he waved his hand dismissively. “Fine. Whatever.”
Sienna grabbed a glass of water and set it down in front of him. He stared at it for a moment before taking a reluctant sip.
“Smart choice,” she murmured before turning her attention to the next customer.
—
As the night wore on, Sienna lost herself in the rhythm of work. She moved behind the bar with effortless precision, mixing, pouring, and serving without missing a beat. She loved this part—the smooth flow of it all. The interactions, the small moments of connection with strangers she would likely never see again.
A man in his early thirties sat at the bar, tapping his fingers against the wood as he waited for his drink. He had a sharp, clean-cut look, the kind of guy who probably worked in finance and had too much money for his own good.
Sienna slid a glass of bourbon toward him. “Neat, just like you asked.”
He picked up the glass, taking a sip before nodding in approval. “You always this fast?”
“Only when I like the customer.”
He smirked. “Lucky me.”
She leaned against the bar, tilting her head. “You come here often?”
“First time.” He gestured around. “Nice place. What about you? Been working here long?”
“A little over a year.”
He let out a low whistle. “Bet you’ve seen some interesting things.”
“You have no idea.”
He chuckled. “And what about after your shift? You let customers buy you drinks then?”
Sienna smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Depends on the customer.”
His smirk widened, but before he could push further, another customer waved her down. She used it as an excuse to slip away, returning to the comfort of mixing drinks rather than entertaining harmless flirtations.
—
She wiped down the counter, enjoying the rare lull. Marco leaned against the back shelf, exhaustion creeping into his features.
“Hell of a night,” he muttered.
Sienna chuckled. “It always is.”
Marco exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. “I don’t get how you do it. You’re on your feet all night, and yet you always look like you just stepped out of a damn photoshoot.”
She smirked. “Good genes.”
He scoffed. “Unfair.”
They worked in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Marco spoke again. “You ever get tired of this?”
Sienna glanced at him. “Tired of what?”
“This job. The late nights, the drunk idiots, the same routine over and over.”
She considered the question. “Sometimes. But then I remember I like the chaos.”
Marco smirked. “Yeah. You do have a thing for madness.”
Sienna only shrugged, turning back to her work. Because, deep down, she knew he wasn’t wrong.
She didn’t just exist in the chaos.
She thrived in it.
As the night dragged into the early hours of the morning, Velvet Noir slowly began to empty. The once-packed dance floor was now scattered with the last few lingering patrons, some too drunk to leave, others reluctant to let the night end. The music had shifted to a lower tempo, the deep bass still thrumming, but softer now—an unspoken signal that the club was closing soon.
Sienna exhaled as she wiped down the counter, her body aching from the long shift. The bar was a mess—empty glasses, used napkins, and the faint sticky residue of spilled liquor. But she didn't mind. She liked this moment—the after-hours quiet, the lingering smell of whiskey and perfume, the hum of exhaustion in her veins.
Marco stretched beside her, groaning as he leaned back against the counter. “God, my feet are killing me.”
Sienna smirked. “Maybe if you actually worked instead of flirting with customers all night, you wouldn’t be so tired.”
“Excuse you,” Marco said, placing a hand on his chest in mock offense. “Flirting is a crucial part of customer service.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. The club thrived on atmosphere, and Marco’s charm was just another piece of the puzzle that made Velvet Noir what it was.
One by one, the last customers made their way out, either with friends or strangers they’d just met, and soon, the club was nearly empty. The staff began their closing routine, wiping down surfaces, restocking liquor, collecting lost items left behind in the haze of drunkenness.
Sienna was just about to untie her apron and call it a night when a soft but deliberate tap sounded against the bar.
Her movements stilled.
The air shifted.
She turned, and her breath caught in her throat.
Damian Laurent.
The owner of Velvet Noir.
He stood at the bar, fingers resting lightly against the polished wood. His suit was black, perfectly tailored, the fabric hugging his broad shoulders like a second skin. The dim lighting cast sharp shadows across his face, accentuating his chiseled jawline and the cold, assessing gaze that pinned her in place.
Sienna had seen him before, of course—he owned the place, after all. But he wasn’t the type to linger around his own club like some egotistical businessman basking in his success. No, Damian was a presence, a name spoken in hushed whispers, a man who operated in the shadows.
And now, he was here.
Waiting.
Watching her.
She swallowed, keeping her expression neutral. “What can I get you?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his eyes flickered over her, slow and deliberate, like he was studying something he intended to own.
Then, in a voice that was smooth yet edged with quiet authority, he said, “Make me something strong. But sweet.”
A challenge.
Sienna lifted a brow but nodded. “I can do that.”
She reached for the bottles behind her, selecting a dark spiced rum, a hint of vanilla liqueur, and a splash of cherry syrup. Her hands moved with practiced ease, mixing the drink with precision, pouring it over ice, and finishing it with a single dark cherry on the rim.
As she set the glass in front of him, she finally met his gaze. “Try it.”
Damian lifted the glass, swirling the liquid before taking a slow sip.
A beat of silence.
Then a small, satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Not bad.”
Sienna arched a brow. “Not bad? I don’t do ‘not bad.’”
His smirk deepened, but his gaze remained unreadable. “Careful, Sienna. That almost sounded like you want my approval.”
Her fingers tightened around the cloth she had been using to wipe the counter. There was something about the way he said her name—low, deliberate, laced with amusement.
“You asked for a drink. I made you one,” she said evenly. “No approval necessary.”
“Humble,” Damian mused, taking another sip. “But you know you’re good.”
She tilted her head. “Do I?”
His gaze held hers, something dark flickering in his eyes. “Yes.”
The word hung between them, thickening the already charged air.
Sienna had been around all kinds of men. Drunk men, arrogant men, dangerous men. But Damian was different. He wasn’t just powerful—he was power. The kind of man who didn’t ask for things. He took them.
And right now, she wasn’t sure if she was the bartender serving him a drink or something else entirely.
She leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. “You don’t usually drink here.”
Damian chuckled, the sound low and almost dangerous. “You’ve been paying attention.”
She shrugged. “You own the place. I’d be a pretty bad employee if I didn’t notice.”
“And yet, you never approach me.”
She raised a brow. “Should I?”
“Most people do.”
“I’m not most people.”
His smirk returned, but there was something sharper behind it. “No. You’re not.”
The air between them felt heavier now, charged with something neither of them acknowledged out loud.
Sienna glanced at the near-empty club. “What brings you here tonight?”
Damian took his time answering. He set his drink down, tapping his fingers against the glass as he studied her. “Curiosity.”
She frowned. “Curiosity?”
“You’ve been working here for over a year,” he said, his voice casual, but his gaze anything but. “And yet, you never act like you belong to this world.”
A strange feeling crawled up her spine. “And what world is that?”
His smirk faded, replaced by something unreadable. “The kind where people sell their souls for a taste of power.”
Sienna swallowed. “I’m just a bartender.”
Damian leaned in slightly, his presence overwhelming. “Are you?”
Her breath caught. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at her—like he saw through the walls she had carefully built around herself.
She forced a smirk. “You sound disappointed.”
His lips twitched. “Not disappointed. Just… intrigued.”
A silence stretched between them. The kind that felt like the calm before a storm.
Finally, Damian pushed his empty glass toward her. “Make me another.”
Sienna hesitated for only a second before reaching for the bottles again. As she worked, she could still feel his gaze on her, burning, assessing, waiting.
She set the new drink in front of him. “Stronger this time.”
Damian took a sip, and something in his expression shifted. “Better.”
“I aim to please.”
“Do you?”
Her heart thumped, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she leaned forward slightly, matching his intensity. “Why are you really here, Damian?”
For the first time that night, something unreadable flickered in his gaze. He studied her for a long moment before murmuring,
“Maybe I just wanted to see if you could handle me.”
Sienna’s breath hitched, but before she could respond, Damian pushed off the counter and straightened his suit.
“Goodnight, Sienna,” he said smoothly, his smirk returning as he turned toward the exit.
She watched him go, the weight of his presence lingering long after he disappeared into the night. She sighed shaking her head getting back to what she was doing.