Chapter 1:The Stranger

JESSY

I burst out of the café, my heart pounding so hard I thought my ribs might crack.

How could he do this to me?

After all the promises. All those sweet nothings whispered in the dark about waiting, about building something real without rushing into bed. About how he respected me. About how I was different from other girls.

"I love you for who you are, Jessy," he'd said, his eyes so sincere I'd actually believed him.

God, I was such an idiot.

But today, over a half-finished latte and a crumbling muffin I couldn't even taste, he shattered everything.

"You don't respond to my touches," he'd said, frustration twisting his face into something ugly. Something I'd never seen before. "It's like you're some kind of... Mother Virgin Mary. I can't do this anymore."

Mother Virgin Mary.

The words kept repeating in my head, each echo making me feel smaller. Colder. Like there was something fundamentally wrong with me.

I wasn't unresponsive. I just didn't feel it. Not with him. Not that electric thing everyone talked about. That desperate need that made you want to rip someone's clothes off.

Maybe I was broken.

At eighteen, I'd never felt that spark everyone raved about. That pull. That heat. My friends talked about it constantly, about wanting their boyfriends so badly it hurt, and I'd just nod along and pretend I understood.

But I didn't. I never had.

Tears blurred my vision as I stumbled down the street, nearly tripping over a crack in the sidewalk. The city lights flickered above like they were mocking me. Like even they knew I was a fraud.

My mind wouldn't stop racing. Wouldn't stop replaying his disgusted expression. The way he'd looked at me like I was defective.

I thought about my parents. About how they'd died four years ago in that car crash that tore my world apart. About how my aunt, my mom's younger sister, had stepped in to raise me even though she was only in her late thirties. Still young. Still figuring out her own life.

"Call me Mom," she'd insisted, even though it felt wrong at first. Even though she looked more like an older sister than a mother.

We were both wrecks back then. Both trying to piece together lives that had been shattered in an instant.

She'd talk about the uncle I'd never met. The mysterious one funding our entire existence from the shadows. Paying for this massive mansion we lived in. Covering all our bills. Never once showing his face or even calling.

"He's family, Jessy," she'd say with this knowing smile that drove me crazy. "Rich as sin, but intensely private. One day, you'll meet him."

I'd stopped asking questions about him years ago. What was the point? Clearly, he wanted nothing to do with us beyond being our invisible benefactor.

Now I was trying to pull my own weight, juggling college classes and a part-time job at a bookstore just to buy groceries and help with utilities. It wasn't much. Probably didn't even make a dent. But at least I felt less useless.

Our home was insane. A sprawling mansion on the city's outskirts with marble floors so shiny you could see your reflection, ceilings so high your voice echoed, and way too many empty rooms that just felt lonely. Beautiful and suffocating all at once.

I'd spent so many nights wondering about this phantom uncle. Who was he? Why all the secrecy? Why help us but never actually be part of our lives?

But tonight, those questions were buried under the weight of my ex's cruel words. Under the shame burning through my chest.

By the time I reached home, my feet were screaming. These stupid heels I'd worn to look pretty for him, to make him want me, were cutting into my skin. Blisters forming with every step.

I fumbled with my keys, hands shaking so badly I dropped them twice before finally getting the door open. It creaked as I pushed inside, the sound way too loud in the silence.

The foyer was dimly lit by some lamp someone had left on in the distance. Probably Mom. But I didn't bother turning on more lights. Didn't have the energy.

I couldn't face climbing that grand staircase to my bedroom. Couldn't face looking at myself in the mirror. Couldn't face anything.

So I headed straight for the sitting room. My crash spot. That cozy little area with the plush couch where I'd spent countless nights studying or hiding from the world.

Private. Quiet. Mine.

I closed the door behind me, the latch clicking shut. Sealing me away from everything.

The room was pitch black. Heavy curtains blocking out the moonlight. Blocking out everything.

I let out a shaky breath, ready to finally collapse and let myself fall apart.

But then my eyes started adjusting to the darkness.

And I saw him.

A figure on my couch. Large. Male. Lounging there like he belonged.

My heart stopped. Then kicked into overdrive, slamming against my ribs.

He was shirtless. Broad shoulders taking up way too much space. The faint sliver of moonlight sneaking through a gap in the curtains caught his skin, illuminating hard muscle and sharp angles.

He was wearing only boxer shorts. Dark. Tight. Leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

Heat exploded through me. Sudden. Overwhelming. Unfamiliar.

My pulse raced. My skin flushed hot despite the cool air. That pooling warmth low in my belly that I'd read about in books but never actually felt, it was there. Real. Undeniable and terrifying.

Oh God. What was happening to me?

My mind screamed danger. Stranger. Unknown man. In my house. Nearly naked.

But my body didn't care. It was drawn to him like I'd been starving my entire life and he was food.

"Come here."

His voice cut through the darkness. Deep. Commanding. Not a request. An order that made my knees weak and sent shivers racing down my spine.

I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

He shifted, and I caught the glint of his eyes as they locked onto mine. Dark. Intense. Predatory in a way that should have terrified me but instead made that heat burn hotter.

"Come here. What are you waiting for?"

My legs moved. Actually moved. One trembling step forward before I could stop myself.

What was wrong with me? Why wasn't I running? Screaming? Why was I walking toward this stranger like he'd hypnotized me?

But I kept going until I was just a few feet away. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin. Close enough to smell something expensive and masculine and dangerous.

Up close, he was overwhelming. All hard muscle and raw masculinity and a presence that seemed to fill the entire room.

I stood there, frozen, every nerve ending on fire.

He tilted his head, studying me. His gaze traveled over my tear-streaked face, my tangled hair, my wrinkled sundress that was sticking to my skin from the humidity outside.

Then his expression changed. Shifted. His brows furrowed like he'd just realized something that confused him.

"How can a naive girl like you be into this hookup business?" His voice held genuine disbelief, like my presence here made no sense.

I blinked. Tried to process his words through the fog in my brain.

Hookup business? What was he talking about?

I'd never hooked up with anyone. Never even considered it. My ex had just dumped me for being too frigid, too unresponsive, too much like the Virgin Mary.

And now this stranger thought I was here for some kind of casual sex arrangement?

The thought should have disgusted me. Should have snapped me out of whatever trance I was in.

But instead, a forbidden thrill shot through me. Made my cheeks burn hotter. Made that ache between my thighs intensify in a way that scared me.

"I'm not," I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. "I don't know what you mean. This is my house. Who are you?"

He chuckled. The sound was dark, velvety, impossibly sexy. It wrapped around me like smoke.

His eyes kept roaming. Over my messy hair. My flushed cheeks. The way my sundress clung to curves I'd always been self-conscious about.

"Why did you linger after you lied about taking an Uber?" He leaned back, casual, confident, and the movement made every muscle in his torso flex. "Oh, little girl, you have no idea what you've walked into."

Before I could respond, before I could process those words, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers.

My breath caught.

And with a slow, deliberate motion that seemed to last forever, he slid them down. Let them pool at his feet.

My mind went blank.

Completely, utterly blank.

Because there he was. Fully naked. Fully aroused. Looking at me like I was prey and he was starving.

And for the first time in my entire life, I felt it.

That spark.

That pull.

That desperate, aching want that made everything inside me clench with need.

Oh God.

What was I supposed to do now?