Chapter 4

Sela

Victor Hawthorne.

The name echoed in my skull like a death knell, each syllable sharp enough to slice through the tequila haze. Victor fucking Hawthorne—CEO of Aura Global, the man whose name Julian invoked with reverence bordering on worship, the legendary guardian who'd supposedly been celibate since the Bush administration. And I'd just grabbed his ass.

I should have been mortified. Should have been scrambling for the door, mumbling apologies, praying he wouldn't have me blacklisted from every gallery in Manhattan. But something strange was happening in the space between my ribs—a reckless euphoria that tasted like gasoline and matched. Because the universe, in its infinite irony, had just handed me the nuclear option.

He'd turned away from me now, retrieving his clothes from where they'd been draped over a chair with military precision. The bathrobe hung open, revealing the lean musculature of his back as he shrugged into a crisp white shirt. Every movement was controlled, deliberate, like he was physically buttoning up the momentary lapse in judgment I represented.

"You should leave." His voice was flat, stripped of the dangerous heat from moments ago. He didn't even look at me as he fastened his cuffs with practiced efficiency. "Forget tonight happened. For your own sake."

But I was already calculating trajectories, measuring angles of attack. CEO. Forbidden. Devastatingly attractive. And that body—Christ, that body was like something Michelangelo would have wept over. The kind of disciplined physique that came from rigid self-denial, which made the memory of how he'd kissed me—all that barely restrained violence—even more intoxicating.

I moved before conscious thought could interfere, crossing the space between us until I was close enough to feel the residual heat radiating from his skin. My hands found his back, palms pressing flat against the expensive cotton of his shirt.

He went absolutely still. "What are you doing."

It wasn't a question. It was a warning, delivered in the same tone you'd use to tell a child to step away from a live wire.

"We didn't finish," I said, letting my voice drop into something low and deliberate. "There were so many positions we didn't try."

He turned, and the look on his face would have sent me running a week ago—maybe even an hour ago. Pure, crystalline fury, the kind that came from someone who'd built an entire empire on self-control and was watching it crack. "Are you out of your goddamn mind? I'm his father."

"Guardian," I corrected, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Adopted guardian. Not blood. Doesn't count as incest in any jurisdiction I'm aware of."

His jaw clenched so hard I heard his teeth grind. "That's not the point—"

"If I'd met you first, I never would have wasted six years on your son." The words came out sharper than I'd intended, edged with real bitterness. "So really, you're the one who should be apologizing to me."

Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe, or the ghost of sympathy. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that impenetrable ice. "Your relationship problems aren't my concern. If he treated you like a toy, that's between you and him."

The words stung, but I didn't flinch. Couldn't afford to. "You're right. Which is why I'm killing the girl I used to be. Why I already ended it. Why I'm going to stand here and face him when he shows up."

That got his attention. His eyes narrowed fractionally. "Shows up."

"Obviously." I kept my voice light, conversational, like we were discussing the weather instead of the impending shitstorm. "Julian's paranoid on a good day. The second he heard me say I was with someone else, his first instinct would be to come back here and verify. He's probably already checking the security footage to see which floor I went to."

Victor's expression shifted through several emotions too quickly to catalog—anger, definitely, and something that might have been shame beneath the fury. The realization that he'd been caught on camera, that there was evidence of his momentary loss of control, seemed to hit him like a physical blow.

I smiled, slow and wicked. "Don't worry. I won't sell you out. This is my fight. My first real fight in six years, actually. I don't need anyone else getting dragged into it."

He stared at me like I was a puzzle he couldn't solve, confusion replacing the contempt from earlier. Before he could respond, someone started pounding on the door.

"FUCK!" The voice was unmistakably Julian's, rage-choked and fraying at the edges. "Come out, Sela! I know you're in there—I checked the goddamn cameras!"

Then Ivy's voice, dripping with manufactured shock: "This is disgusting, Sela! You have a boyfriend and you're cheating? How shameless can you be?"

Victor's face went carefully blank, but I caught the tightening around his eyes. Whether he was worried about his own reputation or mine, I couldn't tell. Didn't particularly care, either.

I reached out one last time, letting my hand trail deliberately down his chest, over his abs, before giving his ass a final, decisive smack. "Shame we didn't get to the main event. Rain check?"