UNVEILED

Chapter One

Marlowe's POV

The invitation came the way everything in this world did-quietly, expensively, and demanding total surrender.

No name on the card.
Just a black wax seal, an address in the part of the city I'd never had reason to visit, and a single line that made my pulse throb low in my belly: Wear the mask. Ask nothing. See everything.

I told myself I was here for the story. Six months deep into an investigation nobody wanted to fund, chasing rumors about the men who ran this city from windowless rooms. But as I stepped into the suffocating warmth of the ballroom, the heavy scent of expensive perfume and sweat hit me, and I knew the truth. Curiosity wasn't professional anymore. It was an itch.

The house swallowed sound, replacing it with the low, rhythmic hum of masked strangers. Silk, gold, and bare skin. Everyone here was looking for a specific kind of trouble.

And trouble found me first.

I felt him before I saw him-a sudden, heavy heat pressed against my back, the distinct weight of a gaze that didn't just watch me, but possessed me. When I turned, he was already too close. His chest almost brushed mine, his mask carved in dark, ruthless lines.

"You don't belong here," he said. His voice was a low, gravelly vibration that scraped right down my spine, making my thighs ache with a sudden, betraying dampness.

"Neither does anyone who has to say that out loud to notice it," I breathed, my chest heaving against the tight silk of my dress.

Something in his stillness shifted. He stepped into my space, crowding me until the scent of cedar and clean skin filled my lungs. "Careful. People who don't belong here tend to get used. Thoroughly. And then removed."

"Is that a threat?" My voice trembled, not with fear, but with the terrifying thrill of his proximity.

"It's a promise." He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, his hot breath making me shiver. "You're the only edible thing in this room tonight. That makes you a problem. Mine, specifically, if you're smart about it."

"And if I'm not smart about it?"

"Then you'll find out exactly how unkind this world is to girls who wander into it uninvited."

He reached up-slow, deliberate, giving me every chance to pull away. I didn't move an inch. His gloved fingers didn't just trace the edge of my mask; they slipped beneath the silk strap, his rough thumb pressing firmly against the sensitive pulse point on my neck.

He forced my chin up, making me look into the dark voids of his mask. My breath hitched, a soft, helpless gasp escaping my lips as his thumb stroked my throat.

"Lucky for you," he murmured, his eyes burning into mine, "I invited you."

"You sent the card."

"I did."

"Why."

"Because I've been watching you for longer than you've been watching this city." His free hand slid down to my waist, his fingers digging into my hip with a bruising grip that anchored me against him. I could feel the hard, unyielding line of him pressing against my stomach. "And because in about eleven seconds, someone very dangerous is going to walk through that door behind you.

He will recognize exactly what you're really doing here, strip that pretty dress off you, and decide who gets to taste you first. So you have a choice to make, Marlowe."

My blood ran hot, a fierce spike of adrenaline and lust tangling in my chest.
"How do you know my name?"

The door clicked open behind us. Heavy, predatory footsteps echoed on the marble.

He tightened his grip, guiding me toward the deep shadows of a nearby alcove just as the footsteps grew louder. "Choose," he commanded, his voice a low vibration against the skin of my neck. "The exposure of the ballroom, or the unknown of the dark with me."