1. Tristan
CHAPTER 1
TRISTAN
S itting in my penthouse office high above the city’s chaos, I loosen my tie and pour a stiff drink. The weight of the day presses into my shoulders—a familiar ache I’ve come to crave. It’s a reminder of my power, knowing that down below, they’re all living a lie. Maybe that’s how they find happiness, blissfully unaware of the truth.
But tonight, the weight feels heavier, I’m about to corrupt another soul.
The world outside is a blur of lights and movement, but inside these walls, the silence is almost suffocating. I can hear the faint hum of the city below, but it feels distant. Perhaps it’s just me that’s detached from all of it. My reflection stares back from the glass—a ghost reigning over a kingdom of my own making.
Power, wealth, control.
Everything I ever wanted has turned into everything I can’t stand about myself.
Funny how that works. You think you’d sell your soul to the devil for a dream. Then you get it—the life you thought would make you whole. And instead, it molds you into someone you despise.
Life’s a bitch like that.
I take a slow sip of the whiskey, feeling the burn as it slides down my throat, hoping it will numb the growing tension in my chest. But it doesn’t. It never does. This is the price I’ve chosen to pay for greatness. For dominance. For wealth.
For total control.
But this isn’t just business. I hold a truth no one else does, a weapon I’m prepared to use to cross yet another line.
Another soul, drawn into my orbit, unknowingly surrendering the last pieces of their innocence. And the worst part? I’m looking forward to it. The thrill of pulling someone else into my darkness makes me feel, for a moment, less alone.
How sick is that?
I stare into the darkness beyond the glass, knowing full well that once you’ve tasted this, there’s no turning back. Not for them. Not for me. The silence breaks only when I exhale, a quiet reminder that this, too, will pass—just like every other moral boundary I’ve obliterated along the way.
My phone buzzes on the desk, distracting.
It’s always an unknown number, but I know exactly who’s on the other side of the line.
“Mr. Barlow,” his familiar gravelly voice makes my blood run cold. “Is everything ready for tonight?”
“Yes.”
“You need to secure Jackson. There will be serious consequences if you fail to do so.”
My heart skips a beat, but I force my voice to remain steady. “I understand.”
The line goes dead.
I tip back my drink, draining it before pouring another. I need the burn, the numbing clarity it brings, to silence the noise in my mind and give me an edge. Liquor helps me focus, lets me plan my moves with these assholes.
In this game, sometimes I win, sometimes I lose.
I mastered the art of shutting everything off a long time ago. It’s second nature now—playing the role of the charming, extroverted businessman by day, hedge fund manager by reputation. People like me. They trust me. But when night falls, and I’m left alone with my thoughts, the fear creeps in. I’ve hit every mark so far, yet the stakes keep rising. The demands from the owners are getting more absurd, and the people I’ve entangled myself with—they don’t tolerate mistakes. And their ways of handling failure? Let’s just say they’re not civilized.
That’s why learning to control everything is a form of art.
But sometimes I like to engage in reckless fun, because it’s more fun.
I glance at my watch. It’s almost time to head to the hotel, my little haven where wild fantasies come to life, deals are made and secrets are kept. Tonight’s meeting is crucial. The new partner, some fresh-faced entrepreneur, doesn’t know what he’s walking into. Thinking this is probably another crooked business opportunity, a chance to climb the ladder in the city’s cutthroat world. Maybe some shady requests here and there but the poor fucker has no idea that his world is about to be turned upside down.
Guilt gnaws at me, sudden and sharp, like a blade catching skin. I’m about to drag someone into a storm they’d never see coming, even if they tried. He’s eager—too eager—ready to barter his soul for a taste of wealth and success, oblivious to the shadows closing in around him. He doesn’t know the truth of what waits, how deep the darkness coils beneath. But what choice do I have? I’m ensnared just as deeply. The rules of this game are etched in blood, binding every step I take to its relentless pull. I was in his shoes once: naive, desperate, blind to what was behind that door. Now, I’m the one with the knife in my hand.
At least he won’t face it alone.
But once he learns the truth, he’ll hate me for it.
Thankfully I’m funny, so at least I’ve got that going for me.
I down the rest of my drink, letting the burn scorch its way down my throat—a welcome distraction from the chaos in my head. Pushing back from my desk, I straighten my suit, each movement deliberate, a practiced mask of composure. The hotel awaits, a place where dreams and nightmares are indistinguishable under the cover of night.
As I step into the elevator, a sense of dread creeps in. I’m not usually this bothered but this one feels different. Aaron has no idea he’s walking straight into a trap—and I’m the one leading him there. The doors slide shut, sealing me in with the knowledge that by the end of the night I’ll have pulled another into the shadows I surrendered to long ago.
Time to turn it off.