Shared by the Obsidian Lords

Chapter 1

The bass from the ballroom above vibrated through the gold-leafed ceiling, a steady, thumping heartbeat that masked the sound of my ragged breathing.

I pressed my back against the mahogany door of the private study, the stolen silk of my crimson gown clinging to my sweat-slicked skin. My hands were shaking. I forced them to still, adjusting the delicate Venetian lace mask over my eyes.

"Focus, Clara," I whispered to the empty room. "Get the drive. Get out. Go back to being boring."

I pushed off the door and darted toward the massive oak desk at the center of the room. The Obsidian Gala was supposed to be a myth—an underground gathering of the city’s most dangerous elites, where fortunes were traded in blood and secrets. But the invitation I had lifted from a careless socialite was very real, and the safe hidden behind the painting of the storm-tossed sea was exactly where my informant said it would be.

I reached behind the canvas, my fingers brushing the cool steel of the biometric keypad.

"I wouldn't touch that if I were you."

The voice came from the darkest corner of the study. It was a low, resonant baritone, smooth like aged whiskey and sharp enough to draw blood.

I froze, my heart launching into my throat. I spun around, my back hitting the edge of the desk. "Who's there?"

A shadow detached itself from the leather wingback chair in the corner. He stepped into the moonlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He was tall—imposing and broad-shouldered, dressed in a sharply tailored black suit that screamed of wealth and violence. A black masquerade mask concealed the upper half of his face, but his jaw was a rigid line of granite, and his mouth was set in a cruel, mocking curve.

"A thief in a stolen dress," the man said, his heavy footsteps silent on the Persian rug as he advanced. "And not a very good one. You breathe too loudly, Clara Vance."

My blood ran cold. *He knows my name.*

"I don't know who you are," I said, lifting my chin, forcing every ounce of defiance I possessed into my voice. "But you're standing in my way. Step aside."

He stopped mere inches from me. Up close, he smelled of bergamot, expensive tobacco, and raw, unrestrained power. The sheer dominance radiating from him made my knees tremble. And yet, beneath the terror, a dark, traitorous spark of heat flared deep in my stomach.

"Step aside?" he repeated, a dark chuckle vibrating in his chest. "You break into my house, infiltrate my gala, and try to rob my safe, and you command me to step aside?"

"Your safe?" My voice hitched. *No. It can't be.* "You're... Silas Thorne."

Silas. The billionaire crime lord. The head of the Obsidian Circle. The man who supposedly skinned traitors alive and wore their screams as a badge of honor.

"In the flesh," Silas murmured, lifting a gloved hand to trace the line of my