Page 1 of Bound By Revenge

Chapter 1

Kat

The manin the corner won’t stop looking at me.

Five minutes.

I take a long sip ofDom Pérignon. Five more minutes, and I’m home free.

I admit this dress was a mistake. It clings to my body in all the wrong places—or, rather, all the right ones. Blending in is my top priority tonight, but the midnight blue velvet practically screamslook at me.

But A.J. swore it would work. “You’ll fit in perfectly,” she’d said, practically shoving it into my hands. “Trust me. This isthedress.”

It’s beautiful, I’ll give her that. Midnight blue with a subtle shimmer—the way it glitters under the lights, catching every movement like it’s alive, makes it seem… magical. Too magical for a night like this. But magic has its price, and the dress is hotter than hell in this sticky June heat, the velvet clinging to me like a second skin.

Still, I didn’t have many options when thestronzosprang his latest demand on me two days ago, leaving me scrambling—and seething. This dress was the only thing I had to wear on such short notice.

A.J. was right about one thing. The hidden pocket sewn just below the cleavage line makes this my best option tonight.

I take a deep breath, my heart pounding as I scan the exquisitely decorated grand hall.

The Metropolitan Museum pulled all the stops for tonight’s gala.

Rich crimson and gold floral arrangements scent the air, their fragrance mingling with hints of French perfume worn by the illustrious guests. From above, elaborate crystal chandeliers illuminate the space, casting a soft, warm glow and setting an intimate atmosphere for the party.

Nothing is too lavish for the Flame of Mir—the crown jewel of the museum’s newest exhibition.

It’s surreal that the red diamond is mere feet away, teasing me from behind high-security glass with its glittering beauty.

My prize.

Well, technically, thestronzo’s prize—if I don’t screw this up.

As the museum director delivers the opening speech for theSparkling Splendorexhibition, I mentally run through my plan one last time.

If all goes well, soon, he’ll finish addressing the crowd and invite them to join him at the gardens, where live entertainment and hors d’oeuvres await them.

Unfortunately, I’ve got a hot date with a certain priceless bauble.

All work and no play makes me a dull, dull girl.

When the director wraps up his speech, thanking the gem’s anonymous owner for lending it to the museum and sponsoring tonight’s festivities, I glide toward the ladies’ room, sticking to the shadows, my heels almost silent on the marble floor..

Inside, I peek under each stall door, ensuring I’m alone. No attendant, no rich girls snorting coke off the marble countertops. Maybe, just maybe, my luck is turning.

I wait inside until the noise in the hall dies down as everyone heads to the gardens.

A few heartbeats later, the first notes of a Sinatra song float back to me. A guard whistles as he locks the exhibit area, the sound grating on my already frayed nerves.

This is it. No turning back now.

I crack the door open, peeking through the gap to make sure the coast is clear. Then, I slip out of the restroom, holding my breath as I scan the area for any movement.

Stealing the world’s most famous diamond on two days’ notice would have most thieves shaking in their boots.

But I’m not most thieves.

As a matter of principle, I don’t usually tolerate blackmail or extortion. My freedom and independence mean everything to me. Well, almost everything. Some things—or people—are worth the personal sacrifice.

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