Chapter 4: Velvet Rage

Him.,

Kade Thorne.,

There were three rules he didn’t break.

No attachments.

No distractions.

And never, ever repeat a mistake.

Aira Velyn, she was all three—and she hadn't even looked his way.

She was supposed to be a footnote in a case file.

A surgeon. Clean cut. Brutal on the stand. The kind of woman who stitched arteries without blinking but spoke like her voice could cut through concrete.

Not the kind of woman who made men like him falter.

And yet—

She walked into that courtroom like silence had a shape. Like power didn’t need to roar to be heard.

He hadn’t planned to watch the hearing himself. He had people for that—loyal, trained, paid in blood and fear. But something in the case report had pulled him in.

Now he couldn’t unsee her.

The surgeon who walks like she’s never needed anyone.

The woman who doesn’t flinch when she’s watched.

And now—she’s lodged in his head like a bullet he can’t pull out.

She’d testified without flinching. Even when his name—his Syndicate—was spoken like a whispered curse.

That amused him more than it should’ve.

His world was built on fear. Reputation. Control.

She didn’t fear him.

Not yet.

And that made her dangerous.

--- 

His morning started before the city could lie to itself.

Dim light bleeding through floor-length glass. Espresso black as sin. Silence thick as smoke.

He didn’t jog. Didn’t meditate. Didn’t do yoga on rooftops like those new-age, fake-enlightened tech sharks.

Kade bled his demons in a gym that stank of rust and gun oil.

Punches thrown like declarations.

Rope burns on his knuckles.

Music low. Metal and synths. No lyrics—he hated being told how to feel.

He didn’t dress for power. He wore it.

Ink curling past his throat, silver cufflinks catching morning light.

Always black.

No tie.

He didn’t need to announce who he was. The city did that for him.

---

The Syndicate ran like a heartbeat behind every locked door in the city.

Drugs. Arms. Intel. Control.

Clean fronts, dirty underbellies.

But that day?

The heartbeat stuttered.

Because of her.

The surgeon with the frostbitten eyes.

The one who stood on the stand and didn’t blink when his name surfaced.

Didn’t even breathe differently.

His people were nervous. A few wanted her silenced.

He didn’t give the order.

Yet.

Instead, he watched the footage again. Slow. Frame by frame.

Zoomed in on the subtle twitch in her jaw. The flick of her finger.

Measured the way her throat moved when she swallowed anger like it was wine.

She was composed. Controlled.

But even the strongest glass had a fracture line.

He just had to find it.

 ---

He lit a cigarette he wouldn’t smoke and stared at the velvet tray on his desk.

The pendant he’d left her still missing. She hadn’t thrown it back.

That meant something.

No woman had ever been able to carry his gaze for more than ten seconds without flinching or flirting.

She'd done both.

And neither.

Now he wanted to know which she’d do next.

The city might bleed tonight.

But first—he had something far more interesting to carve into.

Her.

Her.

And again Her.

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