PROLOGUE

SIRE HAD ONLY taken a few steps forward when something hard struck the back of his head. He spun around, his gaze sharp and dark, already hardened before he even saw who it was. He felt no surprise—only a dull, familiar weariness—when he recognized the woman standing there. The one he had been with just hours before. And the way she looked at him. It was as if she wanted to kill him right where he stood.

Who could blame her? After all—they had been together, tangled in sheets and heat, breathless and clinging, crying out in pleasure, chasing that blinding, perfect peak together. Sire had left her as if nothing had happened between them. He had simply pulled away, dressed, and walked out, leaving her standing there, stunned and alone, as if nothing between them had ever mattered at all.

Sire glanced down at the stiletto lying on the floor beside him—the very shoe she had thrown at him. Damn. That hit hard. He lifted his eyes to her face and met her furious glare with one of his own—cold, unyielding, unbothered.

“How dare you!” Shania’s voice cracked with raw, burning anger, her hands clenched so tight at her sides that her knuckles blanched white. "You use me—you take everything from me—and then you just cast me aside? As though none of it meant anything at all?!” Tears spilled hot and fast down her cheeks, mixing with the fury in her eyes. Was he just going to discard her like she meant nothing? Was she nothing more than his latest flavor of the week?

Sire remained unmoved. Her tears did not soften him. Her anger did not touch him. Did she honestly believe he would stay with one woman? Did she think he was the kind of man to settle?

A woman was never enough. Once he had tasted, once he had known—there was no going back. No staying. Variety was the only thing that kept it from feeling stale. Being with just one person was boring. It was suffocating. Especially when all he truly wanted was the physical release—the heat, the pleasure, the moment—nothing more.

He had no desire to waste another minute on her. She was already taking too much of his time. And truth be told—this was why it would never have lasted. She was too loud. Too demanding. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice cold, flat, deliberate—cutting through her sobs like a blade. “Whatever happened between us was nothing more than sex. Pure and simple. No strings. No promises. Every woman I’ve been with knows that.” He looked over, unimpressed. “Don’t make more of this than it was. You’re not my type. And you talk too much.”

Shania’s face burned bright red, hot with humiliation and rage. After everything they had shared—after the intimacy, the tenderness, the pleasure—he was treating her like trash? Like she meant nothing? It was true, then—all the things she had heard. This man was never satisfied. He was nothing but a selfish, heartless scoundrel! “Go to hell!” she screamed, trembling from head to toe. “You’ll regret this! One day you’ll know exactly how this feels! And I hope it breaks you!” She didn’t care who heard her—didn’t care that his family owned this university, that he was someone everyone looked up to. At this moment, he was nothing.

Sire watched her storm away and felt relief. Let her shout. Let her curse. None of it would come true. Him? Fall for someone and get hurt? Never. No woman could resist him. They all wanted him. They all threw themselves at him—opening their arms, their hearts, their bodies—just for a chance to be noticed by him. He was the one they chased. The one they begged for attention. He would never be the one left behind.

Lost in his own thoughts, he barely paid attention to the people passing by—until someone walked past and deliberately bumped his shoulder, hard and sure.

It wasn’t painful. But it was intentional. And it stopped him cold.

He turned, ready to snap—ready to unleash his fury on whoever had dared—only to fall silent.

It was the scent.

Calvin Klein.

He knew that scent. He had smelled it before—on hundreds of people, in crowded rooms, in hallways, on strangers passing by. But this was different. It hit him differently. It wrapped around him, warm and rich and familiar, and for a moment, everything else faded away. He stood there, stunned, dazed, unable to move or speak.

Sire lifted his gaze and followed the man with his eyes—tall, broad-shouldered, walking steadily forward as though nothing had happened, as though he hadn’t just turned Sire’s world slightly off its axis. He didn’t look back. Not once.

Sire let out an irritated breath, his hands curling into fists at his sides. How dare he? How dare he just walk into my space, bump me, and leave without a word?

Son of a bitch!

After a long minute of forcing himself to calm down, Sire returned to their room—but the man stayed with him. He sat quietly in his chair, withdrawn, ignoring the person beside him, his mind still tangled in that moment. Dae frowned, watching his friend—moody, distant, lost somewhere far away.

"Didn’t get any?” Dae asked simply. There were only two reasons Sire was this difficult: either he hadn’t gotten what he wanted, or he had fought with someone.

Sire glanced at him but said nothing. He didn’t feel like talking. That scent was still there—lingering in his nose, clinging to his memory, refusing to fade. Why can’t I forget it? It’s just a damn perfume!

Dae rolled his eyes. “Fine. Ignore me then. Asshole.”

“Someone bumped into me earlier,” Sire muttered, sighing, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice. “That’s why I’m in a foul mood.”

“That’s it?” Dae raised an eyebrow. “And you’re this worked up? I thought of something else. Do you know who it was?”

“No. I didn’t see his face.” Sire picked up his phone, launching into a game—anything to distract himself, anything to quiet the voice in his head that kept circling back to that stranger.

“Forget it,” Dae said, nudging his arm. “Come with me to the club tonight. Please?”

“Looking for a woman to date?” Sire teased without looking up. "Does your boyfriend know?"

Dae smacked his shoulder. “Idiot. I’m going to watch my favorite band. That’s all. Come with me? Please?”

“Where?” Sire asked, fingers still tapping rapidly at his screen, focused on winning. “The usual place?”

"Yes. Will you come?”

“As if I have a choice.”

Dae grinned. He knew Sire would say yes. And Sire knew he couldn’t leave Dae alone—he was too trusting, too friendly, too quick to mistake strangers for friends when he’d had a little too much to drink. But that he needed something to fill the silence where that stranger’s scent kept lingering.

*

*

*

WHEN CLASS ENDED, they headed straight for the club. It was loud, crowded, alive with music and laughter and people losing themselves in the night. They found a quiet spot at the edge and ordered drinks.

Sire found himself enjoying it—more than he expected. Especially the band performing on stage. They were good—undeniably good—and the crowd loved them. But there was something mysterious about them too: each member wore a mask covering everything but their mouth, so no one could truly tell who they were.

“They're amazing, aren't they?” Dae said, eyes fixed on the stage.

“Yeah.” Sire’s gaze drifted across the room, scanning faces, looking for someone—anyone—to take his mind off things. He hadn’t come here just to drink.

Dae rolled his eyes. “Here we go. Already looking for someone to take home.”

“Find someone yourself too." Sire shot back. "Oh, you can't. You already have a boyfriend."

“Jerk.” Dae glared at him, then turned back as the music faded and the band finished their set. “Already done?” He sounded disappointed. He could have listened to them all night—their songs carried him away, lifted the weight of everything he didn’t want to feel, only for a little while.

All of a sudden, Dae's eyes went wide. Excitement flooded his face. “They’re coming down!” The band was stepping off the small stage, heading straight toward where they stood. “I hope they pass this way,” he whispered, crossing his fingers. He was their biggest fan.

And they did! The band walked right up to their table—tired, breathless, having played six songs without pause. His eyes shone as he watched them approach.

“Wait—Dae?”

The group stopped in front of them. Dae blinked, confused. Did they know him?

The man at the front smiled. “You wouldn’t recognize me with the mask. It’s me—Vegas.”

Dae searched his memory. Vegas? The name sounded familiar.

Vegas laughed softly. “The one you pushed into the sea?”

Dae’s face lit up. Vegas! One of Creed’s friends! “I remember now! Is Creed with you too?”

Vegas feigned hurt. “And it’s straight to him. Not even a ‘how are you’ for me? Guess, I'm alone. No one cares 'bout me. Well, I'm okay." He said, dramatic.

Dae laughed, astonished. "Silly. “You’re in the band? You’re one of the singers?” He beamed. “You’re incredible, by the way.” He turned to Sire. “This is my friend, Sire.” he introduced his friend to them.

One of the band members pointed at Sire, eyes narrowing in recognition. “Isn’t he—” Another quickly covered his mouth before he could finish.

“We really should be going, Dae,” Vegas said hurriedly.

“We’ve got things to take care of.”

“Wait—we haven’t even properly—”

“Next time,we still have things to do." Vegas said, already pulling the others away. "See you again, my dear Dae." He gave a small wave. “We’ll introduce ourselves properly next time. See you!"

As they vanished into the crowd, Sire turned to Dae.

“You know them?”

“I do,” Dae said, still surprised. “I didn’t recognize them at first because of the masks. They’re Creed’s friends.” He made a mental note to ask Creed all about it later—and get autographs.

“Someone's happy—” Sire’s words died in his throat.

Someone walked past their table.

And he smelled it again.

That scent.

The same one from that morning. The one he couldn’t forget.

Everything around him seemed to fall quiet—the music, the laughter, the hum of voices—all of it fading into the background as the man walked by. He wanted to breathe it in, to memorize it, to turn and follow—but he stayed frozen in place.

For reasons he could not explain, his heart gave a sudden, sharp, impossible flip.