Chapter 1: The Stranger's Kiss

The Hamilton Group tower stood proudly above Manhattan, its mirrored glass reflecting the fading colors of the evening sky. Inside the executive office on the top floor, silence lingered after the heavy oak doors slammed shut.

"You're getting married to Anna Lawson whether you like it or not."

Those words echoed repeatedly inside Devon Hamilton's mind as he stepped into the private elevator.

At twenty-six years old, Devon had everything most people dreamed of. Wealth. Prestige. A promising future as heir to one of New York's largest business empires.

Yet none of it belonged to him.

Every decision had always been made by someone else.

His school.

His university.

His career.

Even the people he was allowed to call friends.

Now his father wanted to choose his wife too.

Devon clenched his fists.

"I'm not a child anymore," he muttered.

The elevator doors opened into the underground parking garage.

His assistant Miriam hurried after him carrying several folders.

"Mr. Hamilton, there are contracts waiting for your signature before tomorrow morning."

He didn't even slow down.

"Not tonight, Miriam."

"But your father specifically instructed—"

"I said not tonight."

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried enough frustration that Miriam immediately stopped speaking.

"Understood, sir."

She watched helplessly as Devon climbed into his black Aston Martin and sped out of the garage.

For the first time in years, he had no intention of obeying his father.

Traffic flowed slowly through Manhattan as evening lights illuminated the streets.

His phone buzzed continuously through the car speakers.

Father.

Father.

Father.

Devon ignored every call.

By the time he reached downtown, his destination had already been decided.

Eclipse Lounge.

One of the city's most exclusive VIP bars.

The music could already be heard from outside as luxury cars lined the entrance.

Security recognized him immediately.

"Good evening, Mr. Hamilton."

"Evening."

Without waiting, Devon walked inside.

The atmosphere was electric.

Crystal chandeliers reflected colorful lights across polished marble floors while expensive perfume mixed with the scent of aged whiskey.

Business executives, celebrities, and socialites laughed together as live jazz blended with modern dance music.

Exactly the distraction he needed.

He settled onto a stool at the bar.

"A double Vieux Carré," he said.

"Extra absinthe."

The bartender smiled knowingly.

"Rough day?"

"You have no idea."

"Coming right up."

The amber-colored drink arrived within minutes.

Devon lifted the glass and emptied half of it in one swallow.

The burning sensation sliding down his throat felt strangely comforting.

"Another."

The bartender hesitated.

"Already?"

"Just make it."

Glass after glass disappeared.

The weight crushing his chest slowly dissolved beneath the alcohol.

Soon he found himself laughing at strangers' jokes.

Then buying drinks for neighboring tables.

Then dancing without caring who watched.

"Drinks are on me tonight!" he shouted from the center of the lounge.

Cheers erupted instantly.

"Hamilton! Hamilton!" someone yelled.

For once, people weren't treating him like Benjamin Hamilton's obedient son.

Tonight he was simply another reckless young man enjoying freedom.

Or at least pretending to.

His phone vibrated once more.

Father.

Devon stared at the screen.

Then smiled bitterly.

"Not tonight."

He activated Do Not Disturb, powered the phone off completely, and tossed it onto the counter.

"Now that's freedom," he whispered.

Hours passed.

Music grew louder.

His vision became pleasantly blurred.

That was when he noticed him.

Across the crowded lounge stood a man unlike anyone else in the room.

Tall.

Broad shoulders.

Jet-black hair perfectly combed back.

A tailored charcoal suit that looked more expensive than most luxury cars parked outside.

He wasn't drinking.

He wasn't talking.

He simply stood there, watching.

Watching Devon.

Their eyes met.

Something about the stranger's calm confidence made Devon's heart beat faster.

Everyone else in the club seemed desperate for attention.

This man looked like attention naturally belonged to him.

The stranger slowly raised his whiskey glass in acknowledgment.

Devon grinned.

"Why not?" he laughed to himself.

"One reckless decision deserves another."

Fuelled by alcohol and months of bottled frustration, he walked straight through the crowd.

The stranger never moved.

Never looked away.

By the time Devon stopped in front of him, the music around them had almost disappeared beneath the pounding of his heartbeat.

"Do I know you?" the stranger asked in a deep, composed voice.

"No," Devon admitted.

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

Devon shrugged carelessly.

"Because I felt like doing something my father would absolutely hate."

Before common sense could return...

Before either of them could think...

Devon reached forward...

...grabbed the stranger by his jacket...

...and kissed him.

The entire nightclub froze.

Someone dropped a champagne glass.

The music continued playing, but every nearby conversation came to an abrupt stop.

Devon expected the man to shove him away.

Punch him.

Throw him across the room.

Instead...

The stranger calmly returned the kiss.

Only for a brief moment.

Then he gently stepped back.

A slow smile appeared on his lips.

"Interesting," he murmured.

"No one has ever dared kiss me without permission."

Devon blinked.

"I'm... sorry..."

Reality suddenly crashed back as the alcohol-induced courage vanished.

"I think I've had too much to drink."

The stranger's expression remained unreadable.

"You certainly have."

Before Devon could apologize again, several heavily built men in black suits rushed toward them.

"Boss!" one of them exclaimed.

"Are you alright?"

Boss?

Devon frowned.

The stranger gave a single glance.

"Relax."

"He isn't a threat."

Every bodyguard immediately stepped back.

Devon's stomach tightened.

Who exactly had he just kissed?

The stranger slipped a business card into Devon's jacket pocket.

"Sleep well tonight, Mr. Hamilton."

"Because tomorrow..."

"Your life is going to change forever."

With that, the mysterious man walked away, surrounded by his security team.

Devon stood frozen in the middle of the nightclub.

His heart still racing.

Only after the black SUVs disappeared outside did he finally remove the card from his pocket.

Written across the front in elegant silver lettering were just three words.

"Marco De Luca."

Below the name was a symbol every powerful family in New York recognized instantly.

The crest of the De Luca Mafia.