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Chapter 1: Poison in Velvet
It had been four years since Mira Throne left everything behind—her family, her innocence, and the dreams that once painted her heart in soft colors. At twenty now, she no longer longed for the past. What was once a fairytale was now a grim story etched in blood. She didn't want healing. She wanted revenge. And she'd get it, no matter the cost.
Inside one of the city's most elite private clubs—Stellar Noir—where the descendants of billionaires lounged as if they ruled the world, the mood was intoxicating. Smoke curled lazily toward a chandelier carved from diamond-glass. Jazz beats fused with low, seductive bass from hidden speakers, filling the dimly lit room with luxury and tension. Velvet walls soaked up secrets and laughter. Waitresses in black lace mini-dresses moved like shadows, serving drinks too expensive to pronounce. It wasn't just a club—it was a territory for those who shaped the economy with a phone call.
In a private VIP room on the second floor, where no cameras dared blink and bodyguards guarded like silent statues, sat Rian Vale—the city's number one cold bachelor and heir to Vale International. His lean figure reclined lazily on the couch, one hand twirling a glass of whiskey, the other tapping a lighter. Girls clung to corners of the room, watching him like moths drawn to a calm but dangerous flame. His silence was alluring; his smirks broke hearts
His phone buzzed.
Rian stood and left the room, answering the call in the hallway, voice gentle. He was distracted, unaware of the girl who bumped into him and then continued walking, her heels clicking against the floor as she disappeared around a corner.
When Rian slipped his phone back into his pocket, a sultry voice cooed behind him.
"My, my, Rian Vale. The number one ice prince showing warmth? I never thought I'd live to see the day," she said.
Rian turned, brows furrowed. The girl before him was like a siren dipped in moonlight. Mira Throne.
She wore a white silk gown—figure-hugging but not vulgar—its sweetheart neckline modest but teasing, paired with a luxurious snow-white fur jacket draped over her shoulders. Her long legs peeked from a side slit, elevated by silver stiletto heels that clicked like gunfire. She tilted her head as she played with a golden lighter, her expression both innocent and devastating. Her blue doe eyes shimmered with mischief, pink lips parted in a knowing smile, and her midnight hair cascaded like waves of ink down her back.
Rian turned away without a word.
"Am I that unbearable to look at?" Mira called out, tone playful.
But he didn't respond. He simply walked back into the private room.
Mira chuckled to herself and followed not long after. The club doors opened, and she sauntered in with a tray of drinks. Conversations fell silent. Even the most envied women in the room paled in her presence. She placed the tray on the table, picked up a glass of wine, and slid next to Rian.
As he moved to distance himself, she grabbed his collar, forcing him to look at her.
"Do I look like a monster to you?" she whispered with a smile, tilting her head.
Rian chuckled, coolly removing her hand. "I don't associate with women I don't know."
"That's easy. I'm Mira," she said with a wink and slipped a black card into his chest pocket.
Across the room, a jealous girl mumbled, "So what? She's just a vixen. I heard she has a backer wonder how many old man she has slept with."
Mira heard it. She turned, walked straight to her, and calmly poured the wine onto the girl's head.
"Your mouth might cost you your life one day," she whispered, then turned back to Rian. "Call me."
She left the club.
But something felt off.
Footsteps echoed behind her. She quickened her pace, the air thick with tension. Turning into a narrow alley, she spun around, fists clenched, ready to fight—only to see a familiar figure.
The bodyguard.
Her heart sank. Her steps slowed as she approached the sleek black car that screamed power and money. With clenched fists and a hollow stare, she entered.
The car drove her to a private estate, and when she walked into one of the grand rooms, she saw him.
Damien Voss.
Her nightmare. Her master.
Seated like royalty on a velvet couch, Damien was surrounded by heirs whose names alone could shake the country's foundations. Yet here they were—groveling for his attention.
His presence dwarfed Rian's completely. Rian was a flicker of light. Damien was a wildfire.
He wore a dark fitted suit, a wine glass lazily twirling in his hand, and an expression so cold it could kill. The air froze when she entered. His eyes lifted.
"I heard you went to a club," he said softly, his voice a deadly whisper.
Mira met his gaze. "Since you already know, what's the point of pretending I have something to explain?"
Damien chuckled and flung the glass, shattering it near her feet.
"If you like seducing men, then why don't you strip for us?" a voice said.
Marvin.
Mira glared at him, kicked off her heels, and stared him down, eyes gleaming like a blade.
Another heir, as if possessed and wanting to please Damien and also satisfy his lust he , suddenly stood and tore her gown, exposing her thigh.
"Brother Damien said to strip. Do it," he said.
Damien watched, unblinking. Then he waved his hand.
Two bodyguards seized Mira and dragged her away.
"I hate when others touch what's mine without permission," Damien said, voice laced with finality.
"Brother Damien, I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
Damien didn't reply. With another flick of his hand, the guards seized the heir too.
The room trembled with dread. Everyone knew that boy—and likely his entire family—was done for.
The door creaked open again.
Mira returned.
She wore a black silk two-piece—a seductive outfit that exposed her flawless waist and hugged her curves like sin. The guards shattered a bottle on the floor, spreading glass across the tiles.
She stepped forward.
And danced.
Every movement was fluid, captivating. Every step on the shards drew blood, but her face never changed. She didn't flinch. Her eyes never left Damien.
She bled for him, silently.
He sipped his wine, eyes half-lidded.
This was only the beginning.
.....
The music had long stopped echoing, but the silence inside the underground hall was heavier than any beat. Mira's dance was over, but the floor beneath her feet bore the memory—scarlet footprints on white marble, glass fragments glittering like jagged stars in the blood.
She didn't flinch.
She didn't stop.
Step by step, bleeding and barefoot, she climbed the grand stairs toward Damien.
Each step felt like knives.
But her gaze never left him.
Damien leaned back in his throne-like chair, cold eyes watching her approach. Then, with a lazy flick of his fingers, every heir in the room stood up and stepped aside.
He descended the final step himself, reaching her like a storm in silence.
He didn't speak.
He grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her out.
Not a word.
Not a glance.
Just the echo of her bloodstained steps on marble and the trail of crimson she left behind.
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Inside the Car
The ride was suffocatingly silent.
Mira sat with her eyes closed, head leaned back, hiding the wince each time the pain in her feet throbbed. Damien sat beside her, unreadable. The car's sleek interior felt like a coffin lined in velvet—luxury, but no air.
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At the Mansion
The massive iron gate opened automatically as the car approached. The servants lined up along the front hall bowed deeply as Damien carried Mira inside like a wounded doll—limp in his arms, yet still burning with resistance in her eyes.
He entered a room—one of his many private chambers.
Placing her gently on the couch, he crouched down in front of her, pulling out tweezers and antiseptic from a hidden drawer in the table.
One by one, he began removing shards of glass from her bleeding soles.
His hands were gentle.
His voice was not.
"Why did you go to the club?"
Mira blinked, the pain biting into her nerves, but her voice stayed steady.
"To get close to Rian," she said.
Damien paused, eyes flicking up.
"He's connected to my family. He's my stepmother's son. Her blood runs in that company—and I want to destroy it. I want to take back what her side stole from my mother's family."
Damien gave a short, dry laugh.
Then, his hand clamped tightly around her leg—too tight.
Mira gasped.
"I told you," Damien said slowly, "once you're mine, your past should be nothing to you."
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
Mira met his gaze, jaw clenched.
"If I say a sweet lie, you'll punish me. If I say a harsh truth, you'll still punish me," she whispered. "So let me be clear—I will never forget. Not my past. Not what they did. That's a fact."
For a moment, the room felt frozen.
Then Damien chuckled, deep and low—like a man amused by his favorite toy biting back.
He suddenly grabbed her neck, forcing her to stand and pushing her down onto the bed.
Mira's breath hitched, but she didn't scream.
She only watched as Damien walked to a black cupboard, unlocked it, and pulled out a metal case.
Her breath finally caught when he opened it.
Syringes. Needles. Vials with unknown liquids—white, blue, crimson.
"No," she breathed, backing up on the bed. "Not that. Damien—"
"Shh," he whispered, his voice too soft to be safe. "It won't hurt."
He filled a syringe with a milky white liquid and moved toward her.
She fought.
He pinned her.
And the needle sank into her neck.
Mira screamed.
It felt like fire was injected directly into her veins—ripping through muscle, clawing into bone. She arched off the bed, tears burning her eyes.
"This," Damien said, watching her twist in agony, "is for getting too cocky."
He filled a second syringe, this time with a glowing blue fluid.
"I know you've been trying not to get addicted again," he murmured, almost fondly. "But what you did... it pissed me off."
Another needle.
Another scream.
Her body convulsed, the drugs battling for dominance in her bloodstream. Her vision blurred. Her mind twisted.
Damien stood, dusted off his sleeves, and adjusted his collar like nothing happened.
"You should be grateful," he said without looking back. "I didn't give you the third substance. You wouldn't have survived."
Then he walked out, leaving her shaking, gasping, and broken on the bed as darkness swallowed the room.
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L