EllaThe ballroom dazzled, and it wasn't just because of the opulent chandeliers dripping with crystals or the intricately patterned marble floors. It was the undercurrents of power and danger, the whispered exchanges and sidelong glances. Every single person seemed important in ways I didn't understand, and every conversation felt weightier than it should.Logan led me around the room, his charm a palpable force. I couldn't help but watch him, part in awe and part in apprehension, as he interacted effortlessly with those around him.As we weaved through the crowd, a loud, boisterous voice pulled us into an unwanted spotlight.“Logan!” A tall man with an ostentatious suit grinned widely, slapping Logan’s back with a hearty laugh. “Who's this stunner you've got with you? Another fleeting diversion?”Logan’s face tightened for just a split second before he responded, his voice dripping with controlled authority. “This is Dahlia. My girl.”A peculiar warmth flooded my cheeks, and I felt

EllaThe stretcher bearing the injured man maneuvered its way through the crowd. The room seemed to be in slow motion, with each passing second feeling like an eternity. The stark contrast of the man’s bloodied face against the pristine backdrop of the opulent ballroom was a sight that would stay with me for a long time.Logan, ever the picture of calm, nonchalantly picked up a white cloth napkin from a nearby table. With deliberate strokes, he began to clean the blood from his knuckles. To the casual observer, it would seem like he was simply wiping away a spill from dinner. But I knew better.A well-dressed man approached Logan, a smirk playing on his lips.“Well done, Logan,” he said, clapping him on the back with an almost brotherly familiarity. “That guy was a real Class A pest. Maybe now he’ll finally learn his lesson.”Logan just nodded, his face expressionless. He said nothing; there was nothing he could say. It wasn’t exactly like he could reveal that he had beat up a man for

EllaThe bar was dimly lit, its ambiance intensified by the low hum of conversations, clinking glasses, and the soft strains of ambient music. Golden chandeliers, casting sporadic glows, adorned the room, contrasting the otherwise dark woodwork.I felt the cool leather of the bar stool beneath me as I observed the people around, each of them engrossed in their own narratives, oblivious to mine.It’s amazing how, even in a room full of people, you can feel alone, disconnected. My fingers absentmindedly played with the stem of my wine glass as I lost myself in my thoughts, waiting for Logan to return.“Is this seat taken?” The voice was suave, a touch too smooth. Turning slightly, I found myself looking up at a tall man, his finely tailored suit hinting at wealth and power.I gave a noncommittal shrug. “It’s free.”He grinned, revealing perfectly aligned teeth. “You’re Logan Barrett’s, aren’t you?” There was a knowing glint in his eyes, as though he believed he had already figured me ou

EllaThe transition from the basement’s cool, rustic ambiance to the vibrancy of the party was almost jarring. As Logan and I re-entered the ballroom, I was immediately struck by the whirl of colors, the soft strains of music, and the kaleidoscope of voices melding together in a symphony of laughter and chatter.From the throng emerged a familiar face. Leonard Barrett, Logan’s father, with his steel-gray hair slicked back, and a tall, commanding presence. His piercing blue eyes, which Logan had apparently inherited, immediately locked onto mine.I had met the man once before, and our encounter hadn't been the warmest. His reputation in the business world as a ruthless mogul was well-earned, but in person, it was his charisma that was truly overpowering.“Ah, Ella,” Leonard greeted, the corner of his lips turning up slightly. “You look even more radiant than when I last saw you.”I offered a polite smile, trying to keep my composure in front of the daunting Mafia boss. “Thank you, Mr.

EllaThe luxuriousness of the suite was quickly overshadowed by the cold weight of Marina’s smirk, the shine of my pistol in her hands contrasting sharply with the opulent interior.My heart leaped into my throat. In my haste, I had left my purse on the bed, so consumed by the idea of wearing the ridiculous bikini.“Give that back, Marina,” I hissed, too tense to even move.Marina smirked. “Well, well,” she said, letting the pistol dangle dangerously with her finger in the trigger guard. “Color me surprised. Ella Morgan keeps a gun in her purse. It’s like… finding a snake in a flower patch.”I felt my throat constrict. Ema urged me to lunge for the gun, but I knew that it was dangerous.“Just… Put it back,” I said. “Please.”“I have to know, though,” she said. “Why do you have a pistol in your purse, Ella?” Marina asked, her voice dripping with faux sweetness, as she fingered the gun.Drawing on every ounce of calm I could muster, I replied, “It’s just for safety. I always keep one on