1
Sofia
THREE YEARS EARLIER
I glance at the ID in my hand. It’s good. Really good. It has to work. If I get caught, I’m screwed. I’m breaking all the rules tonight. And I did not put on this little dress and these killer heels to get rejected from this club.
The line outside Noir wraps half a block. Lots of heels, bare shoulders, and outfits that leave very little to the imagination.
I love it—the debauchery, the freedom and the total anonymity.
I've slipped my security detail. Gregor thinks I'm asleep, and Pavel thinks I'm with Gregor. I had to go old school and use my pillows to create a form that I hope looks like a body under my blanket. I have until at least five a.m. before anyone notices. Maybe longer.
The bouncer barely glances at Mara Voss's face before he unclips the rope.
Me. I’m Mara Voss. Sofia Baranova is at home in bed like a good girl. Mara Voss is ready to have fun.
I make my way inside the club. Noir is everything I heard it was. Dark. Loud. Sultry.
The bass hits me in the chest before my eyes even adjust. It feels primal.
My eyes drink it all in. I’ve only seen this kind of thing in the movies.
The dance floor is bodies pressed and swaying to the music. There’s so much skin. It smells musky with the sharp scent of liquor mixing with the many sweet-smelling perfumes.
Booths line the perimeter, draped in black velvet, half-hidden behind gauze curtains.
This is exactly what I needed. What I’ve been craving in my very sheltered life. I want to take a walk on the wild side. Just one night. That’s all. Then it’s back to guards and strict rules.
I move toward the bar to get my first drink. I’ve had alcohol before, but usually a single glass of champagne under the watchful eye of my father or one of my guards.
Here, I’m invisible.
Just another young woman. Nobody's daughter. Nobody's heir. Nobody's liability.
I order something pink because I have no idea what I'm doing and the bartender doesn't ask questions. It tastes like candy. I move to the edge of the dance floor sipping the fruity concoction with my eyes glued to the writhing bodies. It goes down too easy. I order another, and it goes down even faster.
And now I feel like dancing. I find a space on the dance floor, and I stop thinking about everything.
I let go and let my body lead the way. The music moves through me and I barely notice the various men that take their turn dancing up against me. It’s not about the men tonight—it’s about me.
One of them is nice enough to get me another drink. But I’m not an idiot. I watch him take it from the bartender and put it directly into my hand.
An hour later, I’ve got a good buzz going. I dance alone with zero cares in the world. As alone as one can be packed onto a dance floor with fifty other people. The music shifts and slows and then picks back up.
The fourth drink is a mistake I recognize only in retrospect.
The guy that delivers it is handsome. Cocky in that sexy way. Dark hair, square jaw and a crooked smile that makes him look boyish and safe. He says something I can't hear over the music so I lean into him.
“You’re a good dancer,” I shout over the music.
He turns me around, pulling me back to his chest with one strong arm wrapped around my waist. I push my ass against his groin. He responds with a little hip thrust that excites me. I’ve never been with a man, but I want to. Not here and not now, but I like what he’s doing with his body.
“Let’s find somewhere quieter,” he says in a sexy baritone, his lips brushing against my ear.
Somewhere in my alcohol-soaked brain, a little voice tells me to stay on the dance floor.
But I've spent my whole life being told to be afraid of things. I've spent my whole life inside walls and motorcades. I don't want to be that girl tonight.