Chapter 1 - The Note on the Bottle
“What does it say?” Camille asked.
Jasmine Brooks folded the little black card between two fingers as if touching it too long might stain her skin.
Across the room, Nathaniel Crowe smiled from his booth like a man who believed every woman in New York was waiting for permission to belong to him.
Jasmine read the words again.
Pretty girls shouldn’t sit alone when powerful men are buying. Come thank me properly.
Her stomach tightened.
She had dealt with rich men before. Men who thought a corner office made them charming. Men who turned rejection into jokes until the room laughed along. Men who heard no and treated it as a negotiation.
Nathaniel Crowe was worse.
His stare did not ask.
It owned.
Jasmine set the card down, untouched bottle beside it.
“Absolutely not,” she said.
Her friend Simone reached for the bottle. “We should send it back again.”
“No.” Jasmine rose. “I’ll do it.”
“Jazz,” Camille warned.
“I’m not starting anything. I’m ending it.”
The music rolled around her as she crossed the Velvet Ember’s floor, red light sliding over her black dress, gold hoops, and braided hair. She carried the bottle by the neck and stopped at Nathaniel’s booth.
His friends quieted.
Nathaniel leaned back. “There she is.”
Jasmine placed the bottle on his table.
“I don’t accept drinks from strangers.”
His mouth curved. “Then let’s not be strangers.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Women always say that in front of their friends.”
Jasmine smiled once, sharp and cold. “Then let me say it in front of yours. I’m not interested. Don’t send anything else to my table.”
For one second, the mask slipped.
Under the charm, Nathaniel’s face hardened.
Then he laughed.
The men around him laughed too, late and nervous.
Jasmine turned away.
She had almost reached her booth when a server intercepted her with a fresh champagne flute.
“From the house,” the young woman said. “For the inconvenience.”
Jasmine hesitated.
The waitress looked flustered, eyes lowered, hands trembling slightly. Jasmine recognized her from earlier. She had been kind. New, probably. Afraid of losing her job.
“It’s from the manager,” the waitress added.
Jasmine looked toward the bar.
The manager, Victor Hale, lifted a hand and nodded politely.
Jasmine did not want it. But she also did not want to embarrass the waitress in front of the floor.
She took the glass.
“Thank you.”
Back at the booth, Simone narrowed her eyes. “You’re drinking that?”
“One sip so the poor girl doesn’t get fired.”
“Jazz.”
“I know. I know.”
Jasmine touched the rim to her mouth.
The champagne tasted too sweet.
Almost metallic.
She lowered the glass.
Camille was saying something, but the words stretched strangely, as if the music had swallowed half the room and left only echoes behind. The lights sharpened, then blurred. Her fingers went cold.
“Jasmine?” Simone asked.
“I don’t feel right.”
Camille stood immediately. “Bathroom. Now.”
But when Jasmine tried to rise, her knees folded.
A hand caught her elbow.
Not Camille’s.
Not Simone’s.
Nathaniel Crowe had crossed the room.
“Careful,” he said loudly, smiling for the crowd. “Looks like she had too much.”
“I had one sip,” Jasmine said, but her voice came out thin.
Nathaniel’s grip tightened.
“I’ll take her somewhere quiet.”
Camille stepped between them. “No, you won’t.”
Nathaniel’s smile vanished.
Then a different hand closed around his wrist.
The room changed before anyone spoke.
The music cut.
The bass died.
The dancers froze.
Every security guard in the Velvet Ember turned toward the center of the room as if pulled by the same invisible string.
Min-jae Lee stood beside Nathaniel Crowe, dressed in a black suit, black shirt, no tie. He looked calm. Almost bored.
Except his hand around Nathaniel’s wrist was turning the billionaire’s son pale.
“Let her go,” Min-jae said.
Nathaniel blinked. “Do you know who my father is?”
Min-jae looked at Jasmine.
Only at Jasmine.
For one impossible second, the club disappeared. The lights, the music, the crowd, all of it faded beneath the memory of rain, blood, and a man’s fingers loosening around her wrist because she had asked him to.
The tiger tattoo was visible above his collar.
Jasmine whispered, “You.”
Min-jae’s eyes changed.
Recognition.
Shock.
Then something darker than rage.
He turned back to Nathaniel.
“Did you put something in her drink?”
Nathaniel laughed once. “You have no idea who you’re talking to.”
Min-jae lifted him by the throat with one hand.
Nathaniel’s polished shoes left the floor.
The entire club gasped.
May you like
“I asked you a question,” Min-jae said.
And nobody in the room dared breathe.
