Page 4 of Dirty Little Secrets

T he Uber glides to a stop in front of Drazen. I’m still not used to places like this. The velvet ropes, doormen in tailored suits, people waiting like they just left the runway. The kind of place where power wears a name and mine doesn’t belong.

I step out, tugging the hem of my dress. The air is crisp, biting at my skin. My heels click against the pavement, but each step feels like it echoes a warning: I don’t belong here.

A man in black with a chest like a brick wall and eyes like razors blocks the entrance, scrolling through a sleek black tablet.

“Name?”

“Nori Summers,” I say, instantly regretting it. I should’ve said I’m with Landon’s plus one.

His brow rises. “You’re not on the list.”

Of course I’m not.

“Um…” My voice cracks. I clear my throat and grip my clutch tighter like it might anchor me coming up with something better. “I’m here with Mr. Drazen’s party.”

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he presses a finger to his earpiece, murmuring something low. My pulse thuds in my ears. I reach for my phone, thumb hovering over Landon’s name, when the man finally steps aside. “Go ahead.”

Relief barrels through me. I nod, managing a tight smile, and step into the gilded belly of the beast.

The lobby gleams like a golden mirage. Everything shines, gold, marble, glass. All lit from below as though the building were glowing from its very bones.

Inside, the restaurant spills out like a dream built by a billionaire with a god complex.

Dim lighting shifts across the walls like ocean waves.

The floors are veined, backlit agate cast soft glows that dance at my feet.

My nude heels seem to vanish into the light with each step. The doorman right on my heels.

Sculptures of exotic fish hang above like they’re swimming in air, circling a massive octopus made of blown glass.

At the center of the room is a tank the size of a living room wall, at least forty feet tall, with a cascading waterfall and a gigantic mermaid sculpture near the top, almost touching the ceiling.

Colors fade from violet to sapphire to rose, casting shifting halos over the dance floor in the middle of the space. It looks submerged, like a sunken treasure lit by bioluminescent creatures. A world away from the streets of New York city.

A woman in a silver sheath dress appears beside me. “This way, miss.”

I follow her through a winding hallway that pulses with bass-heavy music, each footstep swallowed by plush carpet. The air smells like money, jasmine, leather, and ambition.

As we approach the table, I scan the others nearby. Women draped in designer gowns. Laughter filtered through perfect teeth. Clutches glitter like diamonds under the lights.

Then I see him.

Landon.

He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t stand. He barely even acknowledges me. I’m sure it’s because he is pissed that I’m late and I don’t care. Because my eyes are drawn to the man at the head of the table

Xaiden Drazen.

In person, he’s larger than life, his face carved from shadow and arrogance.

The online photos fail to do him justice.

He’s called a genius by many. MIT graduate.

Billionaire. Heartbreaker. One of the most eligible bachelors in the city.

Unmarried. No children. And the current owner of the company we work for, Drazen Enterprises.

The X tattoo at his throat peeks out from his open collar like a brand.

He doesn’t glance my way, but I feel the pull of his presence all the same.

“Mr. Drazen,” the doorman says from behind me, “your guest.”

Mr. Drazen doesn’t move. “All my guests are here.”

He wasn’t expecting me. The burn of humiliation crawls up my neck. I finally scan the table. men in expensive suits, watches that cost more than my tuition. Landon finally rises and gestures stiffly to the seat beside him. I slide in, cheeks burning with humiliation.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he mutters.

Conversation resumes around us. Something about tech mergers and app security. I don’t hear it. Not really.

I feel the heat of Mr. Drazen’s gaze before I see a server approach. He doesn’t look away from me as he speaks. “She’s late. And not on the list.”

“She’s with me,” Landon says too quickly.

Mr. Drazen arches a brow. “Next time, include her. I don’t like surprises.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. It was all I could manage when all I wanted to do is tell Landon how much of an asshole, he is for setting me up like this but I don’t. I can’t. Not in front of the boss.

Mr. Drazen leans forward, his voice like silk threaded with steel. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m okay.”

“I suggest you…order. This isn’t a museum. It’s a restaurant.” His voice is commanding as leans back, nothing about it welcoming.

A chuckle rises from someone across the table. I fake a smile about to pick the first thing I see on the menu.

Mr. Drazen watches me over the rim of his glass. “Red or white?”

“Red.”

“Smart girl.”

I blink. Is that approval? A jab?

His gaze flicks to my dress, then back to his drink.

The night blurs after that. Deals are made, jokes exchanged, but none of it matters.

Because underneath it all, something simmers.

Not just tension. Something deeper. Something territorial between Mr. Drazen and the men at the table.

I shouldn’t have agreed to come. I’m the only woman at table.

This was obviously a business meeting and have no idea why Landon pressed me on joining him.

He didn’t introduce me properly. Not as his girlfriend but as one of his employees.

He obviously doesn’t know I work for his company and its best if he didn’t.

He knows what you look like, though.

When the dessert menus arrive, I reach for my clutch. “I should go.”

“You’re leaving?” Landon hisses like I’m a child. “You’re being rude.”

I don’t listen or care. The table is still abuzz, fresh drinks arriving. No one notices me slipping away. But one person does.

“Landon,” Mr. Drazen says, his voice cool. “Aren’t you going to see your guest out?”

I stand before he can answer. “That’s okay. I found my way in…I can find my way out.”

And I do.

The night air hits my skin like freedom. The city pulses around me—alive, indifferent, dangerous. And for the first time in months, I feel free.