Desmond Pov

Desmond Luke had always lived a fast extravagant life. Fast cars. Fast women. Fast decisions. Born into wealth, but forged by tragedy, he was the kind of man who laughed too loudly in boardrooms and didn't flinch at danger or heartbreak. The death of his parents when he was just ten had changed something inside him, something permanent. But it didn't break him. Not completely.

By nineteen, Desmond had already graduated from Wharton. By twenty-one, he was flipping distressed hotels into five-star paradises across the globe. By twenty-three, he was a Wall Street legend. Headlines called him a genius. The men called him lucky. The women called him an Enigma

And he didn't mind any of it.

He ran his empire like he ran his life with precision and pleasure. There wasn't a single deal that Desmond didn't enjoy breaking down. There wasn't a single woman he believed he couldn't have in his bed. And there certainly wasn't a city where someone didn't recognize the name Desmond Luke. The Luke Dynasty owned dozens of hotels in Paris, Istanbul, Marrakesh, Venice, and Dubai. But the Noir tower in Manhattan was his favorite. A twelve-floor

pleasure palace wrapped in black glass and quiet secrets. The top floor? His harem.

Aaliyah had stepped into that world as a stranger. Beautiful, exotic, soft-eyed, and served to them like a gift from the gods — by her sister and her best friend. And Desmond? He had taken one look at her that night and known something about her was different. He didn't believe in purity. But he knew she was inexperienced even before anything happened. Unexpected. The kind of woman who wasn't like the polished socialites or bedroom-trained escorts that floated through his world. She didn't flirt like the others. She didn't beg.

She had chosen.

He'd thought about her for a while after their week of debauchery was up. The curve of her waist. The way her voice had trembled when he made her moan. The spark in her eyes when she laughed at something he'd said. Something about her had stayed with him far longer than he liked to admit. But not long enough for him to try and find her.

Desmond wasn't Brandon. He didn't believe in fated mates or prophecies. He believed in making calculated decisions. Controlled pleasure. Staying safe by using Condoms and, better yet, contraceptive injections which he took unfailingly before any harem night. A rare but expensive male contraceptive shot designed in Germany effective for seventy-two hours and impossible to counter unless done magically. Desmond didn't do magic.

He never wanted accidental babies, and certainly not from a stranger he'd only seen for one week.

So when she left, he didn't chase her. He told Brandon and Shawn they'd had their fun time and to get back to reality. Maybe Brandon

hotel acquisition in Korea, and then another in Paris. His world was very fast-paced, and Desmond made sure he stayed ahead of the wheel.

She had given him a week of intense pleasure he couldn't forget. But Desmond Luke didn't do yearning. He didn't do love. Love was for men who wanted to be tied down, slowed down. Love was for people with nothing to lose. Desmond had everything to lose. And besides, she'd come and gone like a dream.

Let it stay that way.

Even now, years later, Desmond was living life like it was golden. His last IPO had doubled overnight. His latest hotel in Egypt had been voted Best Luxury Experience on Forbes' list. And women? Still as plentiful and beautiful as ever.

He had a system. He rotated them out like seasons. He sent them thank-you cards and diamond-encrusted necklaces when it was time to part. There was no heartbreak. Just business.

The only soft part of Desmond's life was Morgana his younger sister. Beautiful, brilliant, and just as fearless. She ran the fashion wing of the Luke empire, designing uniforms and hotel couture for their high-end clients. She often teased Desmond for never settling, never caring. She once said, "You live like your heart doesn't exist." He had just smiled and replied, "It doesn't. It's been in my bank account since I was ten."

Uncle Joshua and Aunt Lisa tried to interfere from time to time. The will his parents left behind had written in a clause marriage before thirty -to a woman of prestige, or risk losing a large stake of the inheritance. Desmond ignored the threat. Money didn't rule him. He ruled it. And if the day ever came when he had to marry, he'd pick someone like Peggy Welsh quiet, rich, and predictable. A woman who wouldn't ask questions. A woman who would sign contracts

Not someone like Aaliyah.

Desmond hadn't thought about her in years. Not really. Until recently. Until Brandon started acting strange again. Until Shawn mentioned seeing a woman in the hospital who looked like her. Until the past began to stir in uncomfortable ways.

And now? Desmond wasn't sure what to do with the memory.

What if she had been more than a night? What if she had been carrying a secret?

No. He shook it off.

He had protected himself. He was sterile for those 72 hours. He knew the science. There was no way the child belonged to him.

And yet, something about the way Brandon had gone eerily silent again made Desmond wonder if they were all about to be pulled back into a story none of them ever truly left.