Cora pushed open the door to her cramped Brooklyn apartment. The hinges let out a loud, metallic whine. She peeled the damp trench coat off her shoulders and tossed it onto the frayed arm of the sofa. She rubbed her temples, trying to massage away the dull ache throbbing behind her eyes.
Her roommate, Mel, was sitting cross-legged on the faded rug, a slice of pepperoni pizza halfway to her mouth. Mel dropped the pizza back into the box and scrambled to her feet.
"Well?" Mel asked, her eyes wide. "How was the wedding of the century? Did you key his car?"
Before Cora could answer, her phone lit up on the kitchen counter. Three text messages back-to-back. The screen displayed Axel's name.
You're making a mistake.
Answer me, Cora.
I can ruin you.
Cora didn't even blink. She picked up the phone, tapped the screen twice, and blocked the number.
Mel gasped, staring at the screen. "Are you insane? He has connections with every casting director in Hollywood. He could blacklist you permanently."
"I don't care about the blacklist," Cora said. Her voice was hard, devoid of any warmth. She walked past Mel and pulled open the doors of her tiny closet. "I'm done playing by his rules."
She pushed aside the cheap cotton shirts and grabbed a hanger from the very back. She pulled out a dress. It was a vintage silk slip dress, the color of dark, bruised cherries. It had a plunging neckline and barely-there straps. It was a dress meant for sin.
Mel choked on her own saliva. "Where the hell are you going in that? Are you having a mental breakdown?"
Cora sat down at the chipped vanity mirror. She picked up a black eyeliner pencil and began to draw a sharp, aggressive wing at the corner of her eye. She stared at her reflection. Her eyes looked feral.
"I'm not breaking down," Cora said, her lips curving into a cold smile. "I'm going fishing. I need a shark. One big enough to swallow Axel whole."
Forty minutes later, Cora was stepping out of an Uber in front of SoHo House in Lower Manhattan. The November wind whipped around her bare legs, but she didn't shiver. She stood tall in her five-inch stilettos, the red silk clinging to her curves like a second skin. Mel stood beside her, shivering in a denim jacket, looking terrified.
The bouncer at the door was a mountain of a man in a black suit. He crossed his arms, blocking the entrance. "Members only. Card?"
Cora didn't flinch. She looked him dead in the eye and dropped the name of a sleazy producer she had met at a wrap party three months ago. "I'm a guest of Marcus Vance."
The bouncer pressed a finger to his earpiece. He muttered something, listened for a second, and then unhooked the velvet rope. He didn't look happy about it.
Cora stepped inside, pulling a hesitant Mel with her.
The air inside SoHo House was thick and warm. It smelled of expensive cigars, aged whiskey, and money. Low, pulsing jazz played from hidden speakers. The lighting was dim, casting long shadows across the velvet booths and mahogany tables.
Cora walked straight to the bar. She ordered a martini she couldn't afford and turned her back to the bartender. Her eyes scanned the room, moving with the precision of a sniper.
She found him.
Up on the second floor, in a semi-private VIP booth behind a frosted glass partition. Jace Bauer.
He was leaning back into the deep leather sofa. He held an unlit cigar between his fingers. Even sitting down, he radiated a suffocating dominance. His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark and bored as he listened to the man sitting across from him.
Cora's breath hitched. Her stomach tightened. He was exactly as terrifying as the photos.
The man across from Jace-Gus Bullock, a known playboy and Jace's closest friend-suddenly turned his head. His gaze swept over the railing, looking down at the main floor.
Cora reacted instantly. She lowered her head, lifting the martini glass to her lips. She let her long, dark hair fall forward, completely shielding her face from Gus's line of sight. She forced a laugh, pretending to chat with the bartender.
Gus's eyes moved past her. He turned back to Jace, complaining about something and gesturing wildly. Jace didn't even blink. He just sat there, a statue of cold indifference.
Mel followed Cora's gaze. When Mel saw the men on the balcony, all the color drained from her face. She grabbed Cora's arm, her fingers digging into the silk.
"Cora, no," Mel whispered, her voice trembling. "That's Jace Bauer. He's a monster. He's a machine. Pissing off Axel is one thing, but if you cross Jace Bauer, you won't just lose your career. You'll disappear."
Cora gripped the stem of her martini glass. Her knuckles turned white. "I know exactly what he is," she murmured. "And right now, a monster is exactly what I need."
Out of the corner of her eye, Cora caught a flash of movement.
A woman in a tight, sequined dress was walking toward the stairs that led to the VIP section. She was carrying a small silver tray with two glasses of amber liquid.
The woman paused in the shadows at the base of the stairs. She looked around nervously. Then, her thumb slipped over the rim of the glass on the right. A tiny, almost imperceptible flick. A white powder dissolved instantly into the alcohol.
Cora's dynamic vision caught every detail. Her pupils dilated.
It was a setup. A cheap, desperate trap meant for the king of the Bauer empire.
Cora set her martini down on the bar. The glass hit the wood with a sharp clink.
"Stay here," she ordered Mel.
Before Mel could protest, Cora was moving. She didn't run. She glided. She moved through the crowded room like a predator locking onto its prey, her eyes fixed on the woman ascending the stairs. This was her way in. This was her only shot.
