MasukEmma’s POV“Emma—wait.”I was already halfway down the path when I heard him behind me, footsteps quick and uneven. Not the relaxed stride he usually had. This one was rushed. Breathless.I didn’t stop.“Emma, please.”That did it. Not the word—please—but the way he said it. Stripped of teasing. Stripped of confidence.I turned.Lucas stood a few feet away, hands on his hips. Sunglasses gone. Hair a mess. No smirk. No jokes.“I’m sorry,” he said immediately.I folded my arms. “I’m serious,” he said quickly. “I shouldn’t have joked. I shouldn’t have said any of that.”“Then why did you?” I shot back.He dragged a hand through his hair, frustration written all over his face. “Because I didn’t know what else to do.”I scoffed. “That’s not an excuse.”“I know,” he said. “But it’s the truth.”I shook my head, stepping back. “You don’t get to turn something that mattered—to me—into a punchline.”His jaw tightened. “It wasn’t a punchline.”“It sounded like one.”He took a step closer, then
Emma’s POVI was already gone by the time Lucas woke.I made sure of it.The sky was only beginning to lighten when I slipped out of the villa, the air cool against my skin, my movements quiet and deliberate. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t afford to.Because if I did, I might remember too much.His hands. His voice in the dark. The way he’d held me like I wasn’t temporary. Like I wasn’t just something that happened on a trip.Like I mattered.That was the problem.Last night hadn’t been a near miss. It hadn’t been a moment of weakness I could laugh off later. We hadn’t almost crossed a line.We had crossed it.Thoroughly. Completely. In a way that left my body trembling and my mind spinning and my heart doing something dangerously close to hope.And hope was the one thing I absolutely could not afford.So I left early.By the time I reached the main dining area, breakfast was already in full swing. The clink of cutlery, the murmur of conversation, the smell of coffee and fruit—normal
Natalie’s POVI was reorganizing a file that didn’t need reorganizing when the knock came.Not a polite knock. A familiar one.My fingers froze on the folder.“Come in,” I said, schooling my voice into calm.The door opened—and there he was. Brandon York. I gave a small, polite smile. One that you reserved for your boss when he drops by for a personal visit. “Hi,” I said. “Good morning.” Suddenly, everything that happened yesterday flooded my mind. That close encounter. He almost caught me. Almost found out that I was the same Natalie Harris he’d been wanting to talk to. The mysterious ex-wife. “Good morning, Natalie,” he greeted. “How are you today?”“I’m good, thank you.” In my mind, I was also recalling how he’d told me about his feelings last time. My heart began to pound harder. Is he planning to ask me out now? “You may have a seat,” I offered. “Oh, thanks,” he answered, sitting down in front of me and my desk. “You know, I was at Matthew’s bar last night and we ran into A
Carmilla’s POVI stabbed at my eggs like they’d personally offended me.“Well,” I said lightly, far too lightly, breaking the silence before it could do something worse, “thank you for heroically finishing my report and arranging an overnight motel stay I definitely signed off on.”Nathan didn’t look up from the small coffee maker perched on the counter. He measured the grounds with irritating precision, steady hands, calm expression—like he hadn’t completely derailed my sense of balance in the last twelve hours.“You were asleep mid-sentence,” he said. “I took that as consent.”I scoffed. “I pause for dramatic effect.”He turned then, mug in hand, one brow arching in that infuriating way that always made me feel like I’d already lost the argument. “You were drooling.”“I do not drool.”“You absolutely do,” he replied calmly, setting the mug down. “Only when you’re beyond exhausted.”Heat crawled up my neck. “You’re enjoying this.”“No,” he said. “I’m stating facts.”I took a bite of
Carmilla’s POVMy eyes slowly opened, and I was instantly blinded by the sunlight streaming through the curtains. For a few disoriented seconds, I didn’t move. The bed beneath me felt unfamiliar—too firm, the sheets tucked too neatly.Then warmth registered.Something heavy rested over my shoulders.I shifted slightly, and fabric slid against my skin.I froze.Nathan’s jacket.It was draped over me carefully, not tossed. A blanket covered me from the waist down, tucked in the way someone does when they intend not to wake you. My shoes were gone. My hair, usually a mess when I slept at a desk, had been brushed off my face.I sat up slowly, heart thudding.I hadn’t gone to bed last night.The last thing I remembered was the desk. The laptop. Numbers blurring together. My fingers hovering uselessly over the keys.I swallowed.He’d carried me here.The realization settled heavy and strange in my chest.I swung my legs off the bed and noticed the small side table. A paper bag sat there, ne
Brandon’s POVI stayed longer than I should have.The bar filled up even more as the night went on, the energy loosening, laughter spilling freely now that the album launch had officially crossed into celebration.The singer—Lila, her name was—stepped off the small stage to a ripple of applause. She moved with the easy confidence of someone who knew she’d nailed it. Talent like that did things to a room.She headed straight for the bar.Straight for Matthew.“Well?” she asked, leaning an elbow on the counter beside him, smile bright but curious. “Did I pass?”Matthew laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You crushed it.”Her grin widened. “I knew you’d say that.”I watched the exchange, the way she angled her body toward him without hesitation, how Matthew—usually guarded, usually measured—looked slightly off-balance in her presence. Interested, whether he wanted to admit it or not.“Lila,” Matthew said, turning to me, “this is Brandon. Owner of the building. Also the reason I could







