Chapter 5

 

She twisted the knob and stepped inside and the air punched the breath right out of her throat.

 

Nothing like the VIP rooms she knew. No cheap neon, no sticky tables, no stale beer stench clinging to the walls.

 

This was a goddamn palace of sin. Floor-to-ceiling glass swallowing the whole city, lights bleeding far below like they were already burning for him. Charcoal velvet sofas that looked soft enough to sink into and never be found again. A crystal chandelier spilling warm, molten gold over everything, like it was already peeling her clothes off, inch by slow inch.

 

The bar lined with bottles that cost more than she made in six months. But she barely saw any of it. Her pulse was hammering so hard it throbbed between her legs, skin prickling hot all over, every nerve ending screaming danger.

 

Who is he?

Some powerful man? A monster in a suit? 

What does he need that he needs this much privacy? This much silence? This much darkness to do it? Does he want to hurt me? Or ruin me? Or make me his — in every way no one else dares?

She was just about to sink deep into her own swirling, feverish thoughts when she saw him.

Everything stopped. The questions in her head, the thud of her heart, the very air in the room. There he was. Broad, built, every line of him hard and unyielding, like he’d been carved from something darker and heavier than the rest of the world. And suddenly all her wondering didn’t matter anymore. Because looking at him… she already knew exactly what kind of hunger lived in this room.

Standing by the window, back to her, broad shoulders stretching the fabric of a black button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, forearms thick and corded with muscle. He turned slowly, and Ysa’s breath left her lungs entirely.

 

Him. She didn't know his name. Not a single thing about him, not who he was, not the life he lived, not the empire he ruled. She had no clue what he did, what he wanted, what kind of darkness lived behind those eyes. Nothing at all.

 

But it was him. The man from three years ago. The one night she’d never been able to forget, the face she saw every time she looked at Dior, the man she’d run from before he even woke up. 

He was taller than she remembered. Broader. Harder. His jaw was sharper, covered in a faint stubble that made him look wilder, rougher, hotter than any man had a right to be.

His dark eyes locked on hers, and something in them shifted, hunger, relief, recognition, all twisted together so intense it made her knees weak.

 

“You came.” His voice was deep. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

 

Ysa stood frozen in the doorway, unable to move, unable to speak, her heart slamming against her ribs so hard it hurt. “You…” She swallowed, her throat dry. “You’re the one who asked for me?”

 

“I’ve been coming here every night.” He took a step toward her, slow, like he was approaching something that might run. “Asking about you. People like you… you only run when you have something worth running from. And you only come back when you have no other choice.”

 

The words hit her like a slap. He knew. Or at least he knew something. She pulled herself together, lifting her chin, trying to look colder, harder—like this was just another job. “Well. I’m here. What do you want?”

 

He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could feel the heat coming off his body, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. “You know what I want. I’ve wanted it since the second I saw you three years ago. And don’t act like you don’t remember. You left before I woke up. Left nothing but a note that said don’t look for me.”

 

“I had to go.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I couldn’t stay.”

 

“Why?” He stepped closer, invading her space, one hand coming up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. His touch was electric hot, rough, sending shivers straight down her spine, settling deep between her legs. “Why did you run? Was it that bad? Was I that bad?”

 

“No.” She breathed the word, her body betraying her already, leaning into him like she couldn’t help it. “It wasn’t that. It was… everything.”

 

“Show me.” His hand slid down her neck, over her collarbone, his fingers grazing the top of her dress, and she shivered so hard her whole body trembled. “Show me it wasn’t that bad. Show me you feel it too. That you didn’t forget.”

 

“I’m not here for that.” She tried to sound firm, tried to pull away, but her hands landed on his chest instead, feeling the hard muscle beneath her palms. “I’m here to work. Just… tell me how much. Tell me what you want, and we can get this over with.”

 

He let out a low, dark laugh, his hand cupping her jaw, tilting her face up to his. “You think I brought you up here so I could pay you to fuck you? Is that what you think this is?”

 

“Isn’t it?” Her eyes burned. “That’s what I am. That’s why you asked for me. That’s what everyone wants.”

 

“Not me.” His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, slow and rough, and her breath hitched. “I want you. All of you. Not just your body. Though God knows I want that more than anything.” He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear, voice dropping to a growl that made her pulse skyrocket. “You have no idea how fucking beautiful you are."

 

His other hand slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him, and she could feel everything, the hard muscle, the heat, the fact that he was already hard for her, pressing against her hip. 

A small, broken sound escaped her throat, her hands fisting in his shirt. She should push him away. She should demand payment first. She should do a million different things. But she couldn’t. Not with him. Not when her body remembered every single thing about him.