CHAPTER 2
HARLEY
The Uber smells faintly like pine-scented air freshener and old coffee.
I sit in the backseat staring out the window while the city slowly grows brighter the closer we get. Neon signs, glowing storefronts, headlights reflecting off wet pavement. It’s the kind of night where everything feels a little unreal, like the world is running on a dimmer switch.
The driver hums quietly to some song playing on the radio.
Thirty minutes.
That’s how long it takes to reach Aurelia City from the sad little suburb where I’ve been hiding for the last year.
Thirty minutes between the life I used to live and the one I’m barely surviving now.
I lean my head back against the seat.
Funny how distance works like that.
You can be half an hour away from everything you lost and still feel like you’re on a completely different planet.
My apartment sits in Brookhaven, a cheap strip of town just outside the city limits. The kind of place where the buildings look tired and the sidewalks always have cracks running through them.
I moved there because it was the only place I could afford without selling my organs.
The Uber exits the highway and the skyline of Aurelia city spreads out in front of us like something out of a movie.
Glass towers.
Golden lights.
My stomach tightens.
God, I missed this place.
The car slows as we turn onto a street I know by heart.
And then I see it.
The Echelon Grand Hotel.
Even from the outside it’s ridiculous.
Tall marble columns. Massive glass doors. Lights glowing warm and golden through towering windows. The building itself looks like it was designed to make people feel small the moment they walk toward it.
The driver pulls up to the front entrance.
“That’ll be it,” he says.
I blink like I just woke up.
“Right.”
I pay, mumble a thanks, and step out onto the pavement.
The cold night air brushes against my face.
For a moment I just stood there staring up at the hotel.
It hasn’t changed.
Not one bit.
Still just as obnoxiously beautiful as I remember.
A small laugh slips out of me.
I used to stay here all the time.
Back when my credit card had no limits and the staff greeted me by my last name.
Sometimes because I was too drunk to make it home.
Other times because I’d met a guy at a club and didn’t want to risk bringing him back to my family’s house.
God forbid the Rutherford dynasty discovered their son preferred men.
My jaw tightens slightly at the thought.
Didn’t matter in the end.
They figured it out anyway.
I shake the memory away and head toward the entrance.
The moment the doors open, the scent hits me.
Warm vanilla. Polished wood. Expensive perfume drifting faintly through the air.
The lobby glows under massive crystal chandeliers, their light reflecting off marble floors so polished I can practically see my reflection in them. A grand piano sits near the bar area, someone quietly playing something slow and smooth.
Soft laughter echoes somewhere in the distance.
It feels like stepping into another world.
The world I used to be a part of.
My shoulders relax before I even realize it.
My God.
This place.
I forgot how much I loved it.
Everything here feels intentional. Luxurious in a way that makes your brain quiet down for a second.
No cracked ceilings.
No humming fridge.
No reminders of overdue rent.
Just warmth and money and the illusion that life might actually be easy.
I’m so busy taking it all in that I almost don’t notice him walking toward me.
Almost.
Because when I do notice him, my brain short-circuits a little.
The guy is massive.
At least six foot five, maybe taller. Broad shoulders stretching beneath an emerald green uniform that hugs his body in a way that should honestly be illegal for hotel staff.
That green must be the hotel’s signature color because it’s everywhere – ties, accents, even the embroidered crest over his chest.
But that’s not what catches my attention.
It’s him.
Dark skin that looks smooth as polished obsidian under the chandelier light. A buzz cut of jet-black hair. Clean-shaven jaw that could probably cut glass.
And his eyes —
Jesus.
Periwinkle blue.
Bright and clear and completely unfair on a man that already looks like he stepped out of some luxury cologne advertisement.
Even through the uniform I can tell he’s built like a damn athlete.
I realize I’ve been staring when he clears his throat.
“Good evening, sir.”
His voice is so deep.
“Do you have a reservation with us tonight?”
For a second I just blink at him.
My brain is still somewhere between holy shit he’s hot, and I want him to fuck me so bad and what did he just ask me.
He raises an eyebrow slightly.
“Sir?”
That snaps me out of it.
“Oh – uh. No.”
The answer slips out automatically.
Then something clicks in my head.
Right.
The invitation.
One of the instructions printed on the back of the card flashes through my mind.
Upon arrival, inform staff you’re attending the event.
I straighten slightly.
“I’m actually here for…”
I pause trying to remember the exact wording.
Then it comes back to me.
“The Velvet Eclipse party.”
The effect is immediate.
A slow, devilish grin spreads across his face.
It’s subtle.
But definitely there.
“Well,” he says casually, “that explains it.”
He gestures toward the elevators across the lobby.
“Floor twenty-seven.”
Then he extends his hand.
“May I see your invitation?”
I pull back the black envelope from my jacket and hand him the card.
He studies it for a moment before nodding.
When he hands it back, that stupid grin is still sitting on his face.
And somehow…
It makes him even hotter.
Which should not be possible.
I clear my throat slightly and take the card.
“Thanks.”
“Of course.”
I turn and start walking toward the elevators.
“Sir.”
I pause.
Turn back.
He’s still watching me.
For a second he just looks amused.
Then he reaches behind the reception desk and pulls something out.
A black lace mask.
The kind that ties behind your head.
He steps closer and holds it out to me.
“You’ll need this.”
I take it slowly, confused.
Before I can ask anything, he leans in slightly.
Close enough that I feel the warmth of his breath near my ear.
His voice drops into a quiet whisper.
“Trust me.”
A pause.
“You’ll thank me later.”
Then he steps back like nothing happened.
Still smiling.
My brain struggles to catch up as I stare down at the mask in my hand.
What the hell kind of party requires masks?
I glance back at him once more.
He just gives me a small nod toward the elevators.
So I turn and walk away.
The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime.
I step inside.
And as the doors close and the numbers begin climbing toward the twenty-seventh floor…
A strange feeling settles in my chest.
Like something just shifted.
Like the most interesting part of the night is just beginning.
The elevator hums quietly as it climbs.
Twenty-two.
Twenty-five.
The numbers glow softly above the door, each one lighting up with a gentle ding that echoes louder in my head than it probably should.
My reflection stares back at me from the mirrored walls. Black shirt. Dark jeans. The lace mask dangling loosely from my fingers.
I still haven’t put it on.
My stomach feels tight.
The higher the elevator goes, the more aware I become of where I’m headed.
A mysterious party. Invitation-only style party. In which masks are also required.
My brain, which apparently waited until now to start working properly, begins listing all the reasons this might be a terrible idea.
For all I know, I could be walking straight into some kind of cult gathering. Or a sex party. Or something so much worse.
Kidnapping doesn’t exactly feel like a remote possibility tonight.
Human trafficking rings exist.
People disappear in cities like this all the time.
No one would even notice if I vanished.
That thought lands heavier than the others.
Because it’s probably true.
My family certainly wouldn’t care.
The elevator dings again.
Twenty-five.
I shift my weight, suddenly aware of the way my pulse has picked up.
Maybe I should leave.
The thought flashes through my head quickly.
Just hit the lobby button.
Walk out.
Pretend none of this ever happened.
Twenty-six.
But then the doors slide open.
And curiosity wins.
I tie the lace mask behind my head and step out.
The hallway is dimly lit, which was kind of expected, soft golden lights running along the walls like a runway guiding me forward.
Music pulses faintly somewhere ahead.
Deep bass. Slow. Seductive.
I follow the sound. And then I reach the doors. They’re already open.
The moment I step inside, the atmosphere hits me like a wave.
The room is freaking massive.
Dark velvet drapes hang from the ceiling, the lighting low and warm. Gold accents everywhere – tables, candle holders, champagne trays drifting through the crowd on silver platters carried by silent servers.
And masks.
Everyone is wearing one.
Some simple. Some more elaborate. Some with feathers. Some with gold leafs. Others with black leather.
There are probably at least a hundred people here, maybe more.
Men mostly.
A few women scattered throughout.
Everyone dressed like they belonged on the cover of some luxury magazine.
They’re wearing expensive suits, tailored jackets, shiny shoes, expensive dresses.
Money practically drips from the air.
For a second I just stand there taking it in.
No one pays much attention to me. I mean, why would they? I don’t look anywhere near like any of them. They all scream money, luxury, success. And me – well, I’m not part of this world, not anymore, and all of them probably think that I don’t belong here.
People talk quietly in clusters, sipping champagne or darker drinks that glow amber under the lights.
The music is slow and heavy, vibrating gently through the floor beneath my boots.
I grab a drink from a passing tray without thinking.
Whiskey. The good kind. Very expensive one.
I take a sip. Then another. The burn feels good going down.
I start walking slowly through the crowd, pretending like I belong here.
Like this is normal for me. Like my life hasn’t been a disaster for the last year.
Someone laughs behind me.
Across the room, two men lean close together whispering something behind their masks.
The entire place has this strange energy to it.
Like everyone here knows what’s about to happen except me.
And then I feel it.
That weird prickling sensation on the back of my neck.
Like someone’s watching me.
My gaze drifts across the room.
And lands on him.
Standing near the far wall. Completely still.
Dressed entirely in black – black suit, black gloves, black shirt. And covering his face – a glowing red neon eye-crossed skull mask.
The eyes burn bright against the darkness of the room.
For a moment I forget how to breathe.
He’s staring directly at me.
No doubt about it.
The distance between us isn’t huge, but it feels like miles.
I can’t see his face.
Can’t read his expression.
Just those glowing red eyes fixed on me like I’m the only person in the room.
A strange chill crawls down my spine.
Something about him gives off… weird vibes. Dangerous even.
But apparently I don’t have any survival instinct, because this guy looks a hundred percent my type. Why is it always like this? The ones I like either drug dealers, criminals, or just have this bad fuckboy energy.
Instead my stomach tightens. And heat curls low in my gut. Because whoever is behind that mask is definitely built like sin – tall, broad shoulders, black hair. The black suit looks expensive, it fits him perfectly.
And the way he’s standing there… just watching me.
It sends a dangerous little thrill through my body. My dick stirs faintly in my jeans.
Jesus.
I tear my gaze away and take another drink. Then another.
If this night turns into some kind of wild billionaire party, I might as well relax. The whiskey definitely helps. It warms my chest, loosens the tight knot of nerves sitting in my stomach.
After a few drinks, the room feels a little softer around the edges. The music louder, the lights warmer.
I grab another glass from another passing tray.
Why the fuck not?
But halfway through the drink something feels… off.
At first it’s subtle.
A slight heaviness behind my eyes.
Then the floor feels like it shifts under my feet.
I blink.
The room tilts slightly.
“What the —”
My head spins.
The music suddenly sounds too loud.
Voices blur together into one low buzzing noise.
I grip the edge of a nearby table.
Okay. Maybe I drank too fast. That happens sometimes. But this feels… different.
My stomach drops.
A cold realization creeps into my brain.
Either I just got drunk ridiculously fast…
Or someone drugged me.
My pulse spikes. I try to straighten up. Try to focus.
Across the room —
The red skull mask is still there. Still watching me. But now the figure looks closer somehow.
Or maybe my vision is just going to hell.
The room spins harder. My legs feel weak. My thoughts scatter before I can catch them.
No no no —
I need to get out of here.
I take one step. Then another.
The floor rushes up toward me before I even realize I’m falling.
The last thing I see before everything goes dark…
Is the red glow of that skull mask moving toward me.
Then —
Nothing.