2.

Giovanni Voss looked at the stunning, flushed woman in front of him, his eyes flared, tracking the heavy, furious heave of her breasts spilling over her dress, then dropping to the thick stack of bills she had slammed against his chest.

A dangerous, predatory amusement struck him. Charlotte Sinclair. How very unexpected. He hadn't wanted to attend the gala tonight. He had little patience for the boring elite of this city. But seeing the submissive wife of his most annoying rival standing in front of him demanding to be ruined, made the entire evening worth it.

"Is it not enough?" Charlotte asked suddenly, her voice sharp with impatience when he remained silent. She didn't wait for his answer. Her trembling hands scrambled back into her clutch, pulling out another wad of cash and shoving it against his chest. "I have more. Five thousand. Ten thousand. Just name your price!"

Van almost laughed. Not at her, but at the sheer audacity of a woman throwing money at him like he was for sale, when she had no idea what she'd actually walked up to.

"Put it away." He said, deciding to be generous, "You're not thinking clearly, Sinclair."

"You're the one not thinking clearly," Charlotte shot back, her desperation leaking through. She knew the longer she stayed without action, the more her resolve will weaken and the realization of exactly what she was trying to do and what had just happened to her will hit her. "I know exactly what I'm asking for. Look if you're not up for it, I can go elsewhere."

Giovanni’s amusement faded slightly, at that.

His gaze swept over her face again, past the bold red lipstick and the confidence she was desperately trying to wear. Beneath it, he saw the cracks. The slight tremble in her fingers. The way her breathing remained uneven. The fury burning behind her eyes that seemed too fresh and too raw.

Something had happened. And he knew exactly what.

He had been standing in the same spot when Sean Sinclair and another woman had walked past him, his hands halfway up her skirt, while the other woman giggled obnoxiously. The two hadn't even noticed his presence, and rounded the corner just as quickly as they'd approached, and he watched them go, contemplating how easy it was to just end their annoying rivalry right there and then.

It would have been almost insultingly easy to kill him. The man had left his usual security detail at the door like a fool who'd forgotten he had enemies, wrapped up in his own arrogance and whatever woman currently had his attention.

It would've been perfect any other night, but not tonight. Not with half the city's most influential people present and two sitting judges a few feet away, all of them one scream from turning this gala into the kind of scene he couldn't buy his way out of.

Sean Sinclair wasn't worth that kind of trouble. He was an annoyance, not a priority. And killing an annoyance in a room full of witnesses was how careful men became careless ones.

So he'd let it go. Filing it away for a better time and a cleaner room.

He hadn't expected the wife to be the more interesting problem.

"Elsewhere?" Van murmured, a slow, dark smile stretching across his face, devoid of any warmth. "That's your solution?"

Charlotte's chin lifted immediately, defensive even through the cracks in her composure. "That's none of your business, sir."

"Fair enough," Van murmured, highly amused. He wasn't lacking for women in life, but something about the one standing before him aroused him more than most he'd met in a very long time.

Was it because she was married? To Sean Sinclair of all people? Or because the promise of debauchery clung so heavily to her usually composed image that it made the contrast impossible to ignore?

Charlotte Sinclair was supposed to be the quiet, obedient wife who stood beside her husband and smiled politely while powerful men discussed business around her.

That was the version of her everyone knew.

But the woman standing before him now was something entirely different. And she was completely breathtaking.

Giovanni finally made a move, stepping directly into her personal space, his imposing frame, towering over her. His sheer size forced her to take a half-step back until her back met the door of Van's VIP lounge.

His dark eyes bore into hers, smirking when he noticed the unabashed arousal in them, "You want an escape," He said in a gravelly tone. His gaze dropping to her trembling, lips. "You want to stop feeling whatever it is that got you desperate enough to do this. But let's get one thing straight before you open that door."

He reached out, his long fingers wrapping firmly around her jaw. He didn't squeeze, but the grip was unyielding, forcing her to look up into his cold, predatory eyes.

"If we go inside, this isn't an affair. It's not a romance, and it certainly isn't a transactional little favor to make you feel better," he rasped, his thumb brushing hard against the corner of her mouth, intentionally smudging her lipstick.

"It will be unlike anything you've ever experienced before. And when I am done with you, I am going to send you right back to your husband's bed with my marks on your skin. You will mean absolutely nothing to me, Sinclair. You are simply a way to pass the evening. Nothing more."

Charlotte's breath hitching was the only sound in the dim corridor. Up close she could finally see him clearly. He was gorgeous, but not in the polished, effortless way of the men she was used to. Something about him was dangerous, there was a severity to him, an edge that made his beauty feel almost unfair.

He was vaguely familiar. She had seen that sharp, jawline and those cold, calculating eyes somewhere before but she couldn't for the life of her remember where. But she knew this with absolute certainty, this man was no waiter. He wasn't someone she could dismiss or control with money. He was dangerous.

Her body reacted before her mind could even process the warning. A heavy, liquid heat pooled between her thighs, her skin flushing hot beneath

her dress. Her heart hammered against her ribs, not just from the shock of her mistake, but from a raw almost primal thrill she had never felt in her entire life.

But she couldn't back out now. The sounds of Sean and Olivia were still burning in her mind, a humiliation so total it left her with nothing to lose. If she walked away now, she would go back to being the invisible, broken wife. She needed this destruction. Even if this man was a monster, she wanted him to tear her life apart.

"Good," Charlotte whispered, her voice steadying as she leaned directly into his grip, succumbing to whatever it was that was happening next. "I don't want to mean anything to you. Just open the door."

Giovanni’s eyes flared, a slow, predatory satisfaction settling over his sharp features. He released her jaw, his hand sliding down to turn the door behind her, revealing the dim empty VIP lounge.

She had one clear thought before he moved again, that she still didn't know where she'd seen his face before, that the recognition sat just out of reach like a word on the tip of her tongue, and that some small, rational part of her was screaming at her to figure it out before it was too late.

She ignored it.

Whatever this man was, whatever mistake she was about to make, she had made the decision the second she crossed that hallway, and she wasn't going to spend her one night of recklessness being careful.

Without another word, he gripped her by her waist and guided her backward into the dark, the door clicking shut behind them, locking out the distant sounds of the gala.

The last thing she registered clearly was his voice against her ear.

"Remember this, Sinclair," The stranger had murmured, his tone almost cruel. "When you wake up tomorrow, you'll know exactly what you chose..and exactly what it cost."