MasukMichael's POVThe warmth of Stacy's body still lingers on my skin, a phantom heat that makes the crisp morning air in my study feel wrong. I swirl the amber whiskey in my glass, not drinking, just watching the liquid catch the light. Happiness. It's a foreign, fragile thing sitting in my chest. After the hotel bathroom, after the floor last night... she finally let me in. Not just her body. Her. The broken parts she's been hiding. She kissed me. She begged for me.And now I want to burn the whole damn world down to keep that feeling safe.The crystal glass is cool in my hand. The paperwork on my desk—legal motions, financial actions against Matt—is just a start. It's not enough. He was in a cell. Now he needs to be destroyed, completely. Every memory of him, every threat, every way he can reach her, needs to be erased. Permanently.I set the glass down with a sharp click. I need to see him. I need to look into his eyes and make sure he understands it's over. And I need to find out who
Stacy's POVThe shivering finally stopped somewhere between the lobby and the backseat of Michael's car. He held me the whole silent drive home, his hand a steady, warm weight on my thigh. The police took my statement quickly. They had the audio from the mic, the spilled water, the torn dress. They said it was solid. Matt was in custody. The word 'custody' felt too light, too temporary.He'll get out. Men like him always do.I kept that thought locked behind my teeth. Michael's arm around my shoulders tightened as we walked into the quiet, safe hush of our villa. Our villa. The word still felt new, fragile."Don't think about it," he murmured, his lips against my temple. "He's gone. We'll sue him for everything. The police will dig. They'll find everything. It's over."I wanted to believe him. I leaned into his strength, letting the clean scent of him—soap and Michael—push out the memory of cheap cologne and stale smoke. "He's like a ghost," I whispered. "Even when he's not here, he's
Stacy's POVThe cheap hotel room door clicked shut, sealing me inside with him. The air was thick with stale smoke and the cheap flowery cleaner they used to cover it up. My heart pounded against my ribs, like a trapped bird. This is a trap. You know it's a trap. But I was here. Because Michael was watching. Because this time, I wasn't alone.Matt stood by the small table, a fake, concerned smile on his face. It didn't reach his eyes. Those were cold, calculating. "I'm glad you came, Stacy.""Just talk." I stayed near the door, my arms tight across my chest. I could feel the small microphone taped just below my collar, a faint, reassuring pressure. Michael's voice was in my ear, a whisper from the tiny earpiece. "I'm here. I see the feed. Breathe.""First, a drink." Matt gestured to two water bottles on the table. "You look stressed. It's just water."My eyes went straight to them. A cold dread, familiar and sharp, sliced through my gut. He's done this before. The memory hit me like a
MATT'S POVBitter didn't even come close. The feeling sat in my mouth like poison, burning in my gut where no amount of whiskey could reach it. I'd sent that picture of her daughter—my daughter, the way I saw it—thinking it would scare Stacy straight back to me. Back to the only man who really knew her. Instead, I watched from my rental car as she showed up at that school with him. Michael Sotheby. The bastard who'd taken everything that should've been mine.Seeing him there, his arm around her, the way she leaned into him... she wasn't running scared. She'd found herself a protector. My move to shake her up had only pushed her closer to him.The rage twisted in my chest, made my hands shake on the wheel. Fine. If fear wouldn't work, I'd hit her where it really hurt.Back at my hotel room—cheap place that reeked of old cigarettes and failure—I made the call. I'd gotten hold of the cooperation agreement between Sotheby Holdings and Stacy's bakery chain. Boring stuff, mostly, except for
Stacy's POVI didn’t pull away. I couldn’t. His kiss was a fire, and I was bone-dry tinder. I leaned into it, my hands fisting his shirt tighter, pulling him closer until there was no space between us. I love this. The thought was a guilty, secret thrill I could hardly admit, even to myself. His tongue swept into my mouth, hot and demanding, and I met it with my own, a frantic, hungry dance.It was getting hotter, messier. The taste of him—whiskey and anger and Michael—was all I could breathe. His hands were everywhere, sliding from my back to my hips, gripping hard enough to leave marks. He lifted me fully onto the desk, his body pressing between my thighs. The hard ridge of his cock rubbed against me through our clothes, a maddening pressure that made me gasp into his mouth.We were kissing so hard we were blind to everything else. His arm swept across the desk surface, sending a leather-bound planner, a crystal paperweight, a stack of files crashing to the floor. The thuds were dis
Michael's POVThe silence in my study was heavy, but my mind was clear. This wasn't the first time my company had been targeted. It wouldn't be the last. Enemies came with the territory at this level. The whispers of contamination, the staged victims—it was a crude but effective move. Waltham's fingerprints were all over it. A man like him doesn't get his own hands dirty. He pays others to do the dirty work.I leaned back in my chair, the leather cool against my neck. The financial hit would sting, but it was manageable. I had more than enough. I could walk away tomorrow and live ten luxurious lifetimes. My grandchildren's grandchildren would never want for anything.But that wasn't the point.It was the principle. The reputation. Letting a worm like Waltham think he could damage my name and walk away? Unthinkable. He wanted me to lose credibility. To become an outcast in the circles where trust is the only currency that matters.And he was using Stacy to do it. That was the real geni







