Chapter 3

Sela

"Two."

His voice had taken on an edge I couldn't quite place—something sharper than anger, more dangerous than irritation. The bathrobe hung loose around his frame as he stepped out of the tub, water still dripping from his hair onto the marble floor.

"One."

I should have run. Every rational cell in my body screamed at me to turn around and leave before this situation spiraled completely out of control. But rationality had abandoned me somewhere around the third shot of tequila, and all I could focus on was the way his jaw clenched when he was trying to maintain that iron control.

He moved toward me with deliberate precision, each step measured and purposeful. The distance between us shrank rapidly—five feet, four, three—and suddenly his hand was on my arm, fingers wrapping around my wrist with enough pressure to make his intention clear without actually hurting me.

"You're not listening," he said, his voice dropping lower. "I don't know what game you think you're playing, but it ends now."

The touch sent a jolt through me that had nothing to do with fear. His skin was still damp and warm, and there was something about the controlled fury in his eyes that made my pulse quicken in a way I didn't want to examine too closely. I tried to pull back, more out of instinct than genuine desire to escape, but my heel caught on the wet floor.

Time slowed.

I felt myself tilting backward, arms flailing uselessly as gravity took over. The hard marble rushed up to meet me, and I had just enough time to think that this was going to hurt like hell before strong arms caught me mid-fall. He'd moved faster than I thought possible, one arm sliding around my waist to steady me while his other hand pressed against the small of my back.

We froze like that, his face inches from mine, both of us breathing hard.

I should have been embarrassed. Should have thanked him and extracted myself from his grip with whatever dignity I had left. But something shifted in that moment—some reckless, self-destructive impulse that had been building all night finally broke free. Maybe it was the tequila. Maybe it was the memory of Julian's dismissive voice on the phone. Maybe it was just the fact that this stranger had saved me when the man I'd spent six years loving couldn't even remember my birthday.

Whatever it was, I leaned closer.

His eyes widened fractionally, and he jerked his head back. "What are you—"

"You're really something," I murmured, my voice coming out lower and more deliberate than I'd intended. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Let go of me." But he didn't move to release me, his arm still locked around my waist like he couldn't quite decide whether to push me away or pull me closer.

I smiled—a slow, wicked curve of my lips that felt foreign on my face. This wasn't me. The real Sela was careful, considerate, always worried about what other people thought. But tonight, the real Sela had been left bleeding on a bathroom floor while Julian chose someone else. Again.

My hand moved before I could stop it, sliding down to grab his ass through the thin fabric of the bathrobe.

His entire body went rigid. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

I used the grip to pull myself closer, rising up on my toes until my lips were a breath away from his. "What does it look like?"

"You're drunk," he said, but his voice had gone rough around the edges.

"Observant." I closed the distance.

For a heartbeat, he didn't move. His lips were firm and unresponsive against mine, every muscle in his body coiled tight with restraint. Then something snapped. His hand fisted in my hair, angling my head back as his mouth opened against mine with a hunger that bordered on violent. The kiss was nothing like the tentative, careful touches I'd shared with Julian—this was raw and consuming, all teeth and tongue and barely controlled aggression.

When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. His pupils had blown wide, dark and dangerous, and there was a flush high on his cheekbones that hadn't been there before.

"You're good at this," I said, my voice slightly unsteady. "How long have you been starving yourself?"

His jaw clenched. "You need to leave."

"I don't think you want me to." I traced my fingers along the edge of his bathrobe, feeling the rapid thud of his pulse beneath my fingertips.

"Don't presume to know what I want." The words came out clipped, each syllable a warning.

"I know what it looks like when someone doesn't want you." The admission slipped out before I could stop it, raw and unfiltered. "Six years of being treated like a chore. Like something to endure rather than enjoy." I looked up at him through my lashes, my voice dropping. "You're not looking at me like that."

His eyes darkened, something shifting behind that iron control. "You have a boyfriend."

"Had." I pressed closer, the decision crystallizing even as I spoke. "I'm done with him. And he was always so... disappointing. Three minutes, lights off, like he was checking items off a to-do list." My hand slid lower. "You don't strike me as the type who rushes."

For a moment, he went completely still, his expression caught between shock and something far more dangerous. Then his hand fisted in my hair, tilting my head back until my throat was exposed. When he spoke, his voice had dropped to something dark and primal.

"You have no idea what you're asking for."

"Then show me."

My phone buzzed in my clutch.

The sound cut through the tension like a knife, shrill and insistent in the silence between us. We both froze, the spell broken by that mundane intrusion of reality. His grip in my hair loosened fractionally, though he didn't release me entirely.

I pulled out my phone with shaking hands, already knowing who it would be.

Julian.

Of course it was Julian.

I answered without thinking, my voice coming out flat and emotionless. "What."

"Did you make it home okay?" He sounded distracted, like he was asking out of obligation rather than genuine concern. "You didn't text."

"I'm busy."

There was a pause. "Busy with what? It's almost midnight."

I glanced at the man across the room, watching him pace with his phone pressed to his ear, every line of his body radiating barely suppressed tension. "I'm with someone."

Another pause, longer this time. "What do you mean, with someone?"

"Exactly what it sounds like." The words felt foreign in my mouth, sharp and reckless. "I'm with a man who actually wants me. Someone who doesn't treat me like an afterthought."

"Sela, what the hell—"

"We're about to have sex, Julian. Really amazing sex, if the preview was anything to go by. So unless you have something important to say, I suggest you hang up and go back to comforting Ivy."

"You're drunk." His voice had gone cold. "You don't know what you're saying."

"I'm drunk," I agreed. "I'm also done. Done waiting for you to choose me. Done pretending I don't see the way you look at her. Done being your convenient backup plan."

"Sela—"

"We're over, Julian Hawthorne. Consider this my official notice." I ended the call before he could respond, my hands trembling as I lowered the phone.

The man had stopped pacing. He was staring at me now, his expression unreadable in the dim light. When he spoke, his voice was deadly quiet.

"Your boyfriend's name is Julian Hawthorne."

It wasn't a question.

"Ex-boyfriend," I corrected, meeting his gaze steadily despite the way my heart had started racing. "As of about thirty seconds ago."

His eyes narrowed. "Julian Hawthorne. The Julian Hawthorne who works in acquisitions at Aura Global."

Something cold slithered down my spine. "You know him?"

He laughed—a short, bitter sound that held no humor. "You could say that." He took a step toward me, and suddenly the air felt thinner, harder to breathe. "Tell me something. When you walked into my suite tonight, was this part of some elaborate game? Some twisted attempt to get back at him?"

"I didn't know—" I started, but he cut me off.

"You didn't know what? That you were propositioning your ex-boyfriend's guardian?" His voice was ice. "That you just tried to seduce Victor Hawthorne?"

The name hit me like a physical blow.