ATTRACTED TO THE ENEMY

LUNA AVALON

The darkness of my room is my only companion.

The absolute silence of the Widow’s Mansion contrasts with the muffled screams I used to hear in my nightmares.

Lying in bed, I stare at the ceiling, feeling the invisible weight of memories that never leave me.

Mother. Sister. Blood. Men laughing in the darkness.

I exhale slowly, trying to push the ghosts away. But I know they will never truly leave.

A dry sound echoes against the wooden door, pulling me from my trance.

Three firm knocks.

"Luna, Madame Lys wants to see you. Now."

The voice belongs to Celeste, one of the veterans of the Black Widow Club.

An impeccable assassin, ruthless when necessary, and charming when the job demands.

I sit up in bed without responding. I don’t need to. Madame Lys is not a woman who likes to be kept waiting.

Barefoot, I cross the dark room to a dresser, where I keep a few clothes.

I grab a black silk robe and slip it over my lingerie.

The fabric glides against my skin like sweet poison, a promise of danger and seduction.

I glance at my reflection in the mirror: deep, dark eyes, tightly pressed lips, an impassive expression.

I am ready.

I leave the room and walk down the long corridor, illuminated by candles mounted on the walls.

The place exudes a decadent opulence, with dark wooden furniture, heavy curtains, and the intoxicating scent of jasmine and tobacco lingering in the air.

The Black Widow Club is a sanctuary for women like me. Trained to seduce, deceive, and kill.

I cross the hallway and descend the main staircase, my bare feet making no sound.

Madame Lys’s office is at the end of a corridor forbidden to those who are not invited.

But I am always summoned to that place.

When I reach the carved wooden door, Celeste gives me a slight nod and opens it for me to enter.

The room is dominated by a woody aroma and by the figure of Madame Lys sitting behind a mahogany desk, her fingers slowly sliding over a wine glass.

"Sit down, Luna.", her voice is like poisoned silk, sweet and lethal.

I approach without hesitation and sit in the leather chair before the desk.

"I have a new job for you."

Madame Lys picks up a red leather folder and pushes it toward me.

I take the folder and open it, revealing a photo of a man who exudes danger and power.

He has cold, gray eyes, striking features, and an aura of something wild, something untamed.

The attached information confirms my suspicions:

Damien Vaughn, reclusive billionaire, owner of several casinos and exclusive clubs, influential in the business world, and, according to rumors, a keeper of secrets darker than anyone can imagine.

But what makes my eyebrow arch slightly is the last line on the main page:

Species: Werewolf.

I lift my eyes to Madame Lys.

"So now we hunt monsters?"

Madame Lys smirks slightly, a subtle gleam in her blue eyes.

"We’ve always hunted monsters, Luna. Only this time, it’s not just metaphorical."

I look back at the photo, feeling an unexpected thrill mixed with my caution.

I’ve killed cruel men before—predators disguised as gentlemen, murderers hiding behind expensive suits.

But never a werewolf.

"He won’t be easy."

Madame Lys continues, rising and slowly circling the desk.

"Damien Vaughn is more than a powerful man. He is a real monster. If you underestimate him, you won’t stand a chance."

I close the folder and hold it tightly between my fingers.

"I won’t fail."

Madame Lys smiles again, stopping behind my chair and resting her cold fingers on my bare shoulders.

"I know you won’t. That’s why you were chosen for this job. You’re the best, Luna. And he… is a trophy only the best can claim."

The pride in her voice is almost as intoxicating as the perfume she wears.

But I know nothing comes for free in the Black Widow Club.

Every compliment, every mission, is just another step down the path of no return I chose to walk.

"What’s the plan?"

Madame Lys releases my shoulders and returns behind the desk, picking up her wine glass again.

"Tonight, Damien Vaughn will be at the Golden Inferno. It’s an exclusive club; few have access. But you will. Our network secured you an invitation. Your initial objective? Infiltrate. Study him. Learn his patterns. Make him look at you."

I nod slowly.

It’s nothing I haven’t done before.

But this time, I know I’ll be facing a different kind of opponent.

"And then?"

"Then you destroy him. But you must be quick. He is smart, and if he suspects anything, you will become the hunted instead of the hunter."

I take a deep breath and rise, holding the folder against my chest.

I cast one last look at Damien Vaughn’s photo.

His fate is already sealed.

His blood is already marked to be spilled.

I just need to find the right way to make him fall.

With a discreet nod, I turn and leave the office, my bare feet gliding smoothly over the wooden floor.

Night will fall soon.

A new hunt will begin...

The blade slides smoothly against my thigh as I adjust the silver daggers inside the leather sheath hidden beneath my dress.

My reflection in the mirror stares back at me with calculating eyes.

The short black dress clings to my body like a second skin, the thin straps highlight my shoulders, and the neckline is just enough for seduction without revealing too much.

If I am to hunt a monster, I must be the perfect prey.

I grip the hem of the dress and ensure the blades remain securely in place.

Never underestimate your prey, especially when it has real fangs.

I take the golden card Madame Lys gave me.

The invitation to the Golden Inferno.

A fitting name for a place where sinners gather.

I descend the stairs of the Widow’s Mansion without looking to the sides.

Some girls watch me—some with envy, others hoping I fail.

I won’t give them that satisfaction.

I step into the garage and get into my black car, a discreet but powerful model.

I start the engine and drive to the secret club.

The city at night is a mirage of neon and shadows.

The Golden Inferno is in one of the most exclusive districts, invisible to those without the privilege of knowing where to look.

When I arrive, I’m met by two guards in impeccable suits with cold stares.

I lower the window and hand over the golden card.

The guard examines the invitation, then looks at me for a moment before nodding to the other security.

"Welcome to the Golden Inferno."

The underground garage is luxurious, filled with cars worth more than most people earn in a lifetime.

I park and step out, feeling the weight of expectation on my shoulders.

The muffled music vibrates through the concrete as I approach the entrance.

Two large men guard the black metal double doors.

As soon as they see me, one of them opens the door without a word.

I offer a small smile and step inside.

The interior of the club is a sanctuary of excess.

Golden lights cast a warm glow that contrasts with the shadows in the corners.

The scent of cigars, expensive liquor, and intoxicating perfume lingers in the air.

Men in expensive suits occupy the leather tables, some with women on their laps, whispering promises they will never keep.

On the main stage, girls dance to a slow, sensual beat.

Bills float through the air as men throw money without a second thought.

I walk through the lounge unhurriedly, absorbing every detail.

My gaze sweeps the room, searching for Damien Vaughn, but he isn’t here yet.

I find a spot at the bar and sit, crossing my legs slowly.

The bartender approaches and gives me an assessing look before asking:

"What will you have?"

"Whiskey. Neat."

He raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

Within seconds, a crystal glass rests before me, the amber liquid glowing under the golden lights.

I take a sip and watch the men throwing money as if it were paper, while the girls on stage move like sirens, hypnotizing their prey.

And then he enters.

Damien Vaughn.

It’s impossible not to notice him.

He walks as if the world belongs to him, in a dark suit perfectly tailored to his strong frame.

He doesn’t rush—he doesn’t need to.

The air seems to shift around him; people avert their gaze or whisper as he passes.

He smokes a cigar lazily, the smoke curling into spirals.

He joins a group of powerful men, all with hungry eyes fixed on the stage. Damien looks bored, but something tells me nothing escapes his attention.

If I want to get close, I need him to see me.

I down my whiskey in one gulp and slide off the barstool. The alcohol burns, but it doesn’t affect me. I walk across the room toward the stage, my heels echoing softly against the marble floor. One of the dancers, a blonde woman with red lips, extends her hand to me and smiles. An invitation.

Perfect.

I accept and step onto the stage.

Male gazes fall on me the moment my foot touches the elevated floor. Their heat surrounds me like a hungry fire. The music vibrates through my body as I glide toward the pole. My movements are slow, deliberate—crafted for seduction and mystery. Every spin, every arch of my body is an unspoken promise.

And then I look at him.

Damien’s silver eyes are locked onto me. His expression remains unreadable, but there’s something there. An interest. A spark.

I did it.

The cigar between his fingers burns slowly as he watches me, unmoving. The rest of the men cheer, whistle, and throw money. But Damien only watches, like a predator analyzing its prey.

Before I can continue, a large man approaches the stage and extends a hand toward me.

A security guard. I know what this means before he even speaks.

"Mr. Vaughn wishes to meet you."

The momentary silence is broken only by the murmurs of the men and the clinking of glasses at the bar. Damien keeps watching me, waiting for my reaction.

I offer a slight smile, sliding off the stage with the grace of a cat. My heart beats steadily, but my face shows nothing but curiosity and interest.

The game has begun.

As I follow the security guard, I feel the weight of Damien’s gaze trailing after me.

Let me see what you truly believe in, Damien Vaughn.

Because soon, it will be the last thing you see.

LUNA AVALON

I walk through the long and silent hallway of the club, my light and controlled footsteps echoing softly on the dark wooden floor.

I'm not nervous, although I know the meeting I will have tonight won't be easy.

Damien is not just any man. He is the kind of person who inspires admiration and fear in equal measure, someone who commands respect wherever he goes.

But I'm ready. I do not fear the power of a man, especially not a man like him.

Deep down, I know I could kill him tonight if necessary.

But something stops me. Something makes me think that now is not the time to act with violence.

Damien is important. He has allies and a considerable number of security guards around him.

I need to be smarter than that. Patience is a virtue, and I know my time will come.

I reach the door of the room, and the guard looks at me for a moment before opening it for me.

I enter without hesitation. The roo