Mag-log inHeartbreak made me reckless enough to disappear into a stranger’s bed. After my ex cheated, pride hurt worse than love. For one night, I wanted to forget his name, his lies, and the version of me that had believed him. By morning, it was supposed to become a secret I could bury and never touch again. Then Jordan Vasquez walked back into my life. Jordan Vasquez should have stayed a secret I never spoke of again, but he carried a name people feared, belonged to a family that could make scandals disappear, and was already promised to another woman. I knew better than to stay near him. Jordan gave me no room to be sensible. Jordan came back like a man who had already decided I was his unfinished mistake, pulling me into a world where reputation mattered more than truth and desire could destroy everything. His fiancée saw me as a dirty little secret waiting to be erased. Maybe she was right. But secrets become dangerous when everyone keeps trying to bury them. And by the time I understood what Jordan could cost me, I had already stopped wanting to be saved.
view more-POV Derby The elevator doors slid open. My heart stopped. Tamara Hayden stepped out — cream silk dress hugging her figure, perfect posture, the kind of beauty that made the whole room feel colder. She smiled when she saw us, polite and polished and sharp enough to cut glass. “Jordan,” she said smoothly, voice like honey over steel. “I thought we were having dinner tonight.” Jordan didn’t flinch. His hand was still hovering near my waist, close enough that I could feel the heat. He straightened slowly, turning toward her with that same calm control he’d used when he was buried deep inside me. “Change of plans,” he answered, voice even. “Business ran late.” Tamara’s gaze slid to me. She took me in from head to toe — flushed cheeks, dress clinging to my curves, the way I was standing too close to her fiancé. Her smile never wavered, but her eyes turned icy. “Assistant staff, right?” she asked, sweet but poisonous. “Derby… Odellia?” She knew my name. Of course she
-POV Derby I didn’t go to his place on Thursday night. I told myself it was dignity. That I was smarter than this. That one night had already cost me too much. But the truth was simpler and far more dangerous — I was terrified of how badly I still wanted him. The weekend passed in a blur of frantic avoidance. I cleaned my apartment until it sparkled, answered emails at midnight, and tried not to replay the way his voice had dropped when he told me he could still feel me clenching around his cock. Every time the memory hit, heat pooled low in my belly and I had to press my thighs together like I was hiding something shameful. By Monday I was exhausted from pretending. The office felt different now. Every hallway carried the possibility that he might appear. Every email notification made my stomach flip. I kept my head down and told myself the briefing had been a one-time slip. Nothing more. Until 4:17 PM. A new calendar invite appeared in my inbox. Private Strateg
-POV Derby I told myself I wasn’t going. I stood in the elevator, finger hovering over the button for my own floor, heart slamming so hard I could feel it in my throat. Just go back to your desk. Pretend you never saw that email. Pretend he never said your name like that. The doors started to close. I slammed the 15 button instead. The private lounge on the fifteenth floor was quiet, all dark wood and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Empty except for him. Jordan was already there. He stood by the window, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up, one hand in his pocket like he had all the time in the world. When the door clicked shut behind me, he turned. Those calm eyes found mine instantly, and the same dangerous stillness from the bar settled over the room. “You came,” he said. Low. Certain. Like he’d never doubted it for a second. I clutched my bag strap tighter. “You didn’t exactly give me a choice.” He took one slow step closer. “I gave you a cho
-POV Derby Thursday came too fast. I stood in front of the mirror adjusting my blouse, fingers trembling. Simple black pencil skirt, crisp white top, minimal makeup. Professional. Safe. But every shift of fabric reminded me of his hands — rough and sure — gripping my hips, pulling me back onto him while he thrust deep and slow, filling me so completely I forgot how to breathe. I could still feel the stretch. The burn. The way he’d paused right before pushing all the way in, eyes locked on mine like he wanted me to feel exactly who was claiming me. I grabbed my bag and left before I could talk myself out of going. The conference room was already filling up. I chose a seat near the back, heart hammering against my ribs. Then the door opened. Jordan walked in. Dark suit hugging his broad shoulders, crisp white shirt, the same calm, predatory presence that had wrecked me four nights ago. His eyes swept the room once — then locked straight onto me. Time stopped. Heat sl












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