Chapter 1: Blood on Velvet and Broken Names

I called out Harrison’s name just as Victor’s need crashed through him, raw and overwhelming, his hands rough, his breath ragged and wild.

My voice was a desperate whisper, ragged around the edges. The name slipped out before I could stop it, a reflex from somewhere deeper than reason. The moment it left my lips, the whole room seemed to tense, like the air itself held its breath, waiting for Victor’s reaction. God, what have I done?

Victor Halloran froze for a split second—a flash of shock in his eyes—then his hand clamped around my throat and he crushed his mouth to mine, biting until I tasted blood. Only when my mouth filled with that metallic tang did he finally let go.

For a heartbeat, everything went still. Then his grip was iron, his breath hot and angry against my skin. I tasted copper and salt, felt the pulse of my heart in my bruised lips. He pulled away, eyes wild with something between fury and heartbreak. Was this it? Was this the moment everything would snap? The taste of blood lingered, sharp and metallic, making me shudder.

His long fingers undid the buttons of my velvet dress and slipped beneath the fabric, rough and unkind, against my bare skin.

The velvet fell away, cool air prickling my skin where his hands roamed—rough, insistent, leaving behind trails of heat and warning. His touch was cold and hard, nothing like the soft caresses I remembered from before. I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sound.

I didn’t make a sound. I just closed my eyes and kept calling for Harrison, over and over, even if only in my head.

I pictured Harrison’s face, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the warmth of his hand in mine. I let myself drift toward those memories, shutting out the world. My body was here, but my heart was somewhere far away, clinging to the one person who ever made me feel safe.

When I didn’t respond, Victor turned vicious, leaving bruises. Then, in a sudden shift, he wiped the tears from my eyes with his thumb, forcing me to look at him as his sneer turned to ice.

He pressed his thumb to my cheek, not gently, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes were ice, lips curled in a sneer that cut deeper than his touch. His words came out like bullets, each one meant to wound, to remind me exactly where I stood.

“Autumn, Harrison Langley is dead! The feds put a dozen bullets in him and tossed him in the Hudson—he’s fish food by now! The things you did, those people will trace it back to you sooner or later. If you don’t stick with me, you’ll be dead too!”

His voice was harsh, echoing off the walls. I could almost hear the river’s cold current in his words—a chill that seeped into my bones. The room felt smaller, the world pressing in, and for a moment, I wondered if he was right—if all roads led to ruin unless I stayed by his side.

A bright lamp hung overhead, its harsh white light reflected in my eyes, making spots of light swirl before me.

The lamp buzzed faintly, casting sharp shadows that danced across the walls. My eyes watered, the glare so intense I had to blink, but the spots lingered, swirling in my vision like tiny ghosts. Everything felt too bright, too exposed.

I swallowed hard. My voice was hoarse as I said, “Just let me die.”

The words came out cracked, barely more than a whisper. I didn’t care if he heard the truth in them. For a second, I felt lighter, like I’d finally said what needed to be said. The air between us went still, heavy with something neither of us could name.

He stopped cold, as if my words had wounded him deeply. The light in his eyes faded.

For once, my words hit harder than his hands.

It was a strange thing to see—a man like Victor, always so sure, so ruthless, suddenly looking lost. For a heartbeat, I saw the boy he must have been once, before the world taught him to be cruel. The room felt colder, the silence stretching out between us.

After a moment, he leaned in to kiss me, rough and forceful, his hand sliding down.

His lips were hard, desperate, as if he could erase my words with the force of his touch. I turned my head, but he only pressed closer, hands moving with a kind of frantic energy. The bed creaked beneath us, the world reduced to the sound of his breathing and my own pounding heart.

He spat out each word with venom: “In your dreams.”

His voice was ragged, each syllable bitten off like he was chewing glass. I felt the anger rolling off him in waves, and for the first time, I wondered if maybe he was as lost as I was.