Chapter 5

The sun was cruel.

Lena woke to harsh golden light streaming through the uncurtained windows, her head pounding in time with her heartbeat. For a moment, she was disoriented, the luxury of the suite unfamiliar, the smell of bergamot and cedar on the pillow beside her both comforting and strange. The bed was enormous, the sheets Egyptian cotton, and the city sprawled below like a kingdom she did not belong to.

She reached across the bed.

Cold sheets.

Her eyes snapped open.

The space where Alexander had lain was empty, the pillow bearing only the faint indentation of his head. She sat up, clutching the duvet to her chest, and scanned the room with a growing sense of dread.

Gone.

His clothes were gone. His shoes. His watch, which he had left on the nightstand while they had been together. Even the glass of water he had poured for her in the middle of the night, after the second time they had made love, was gone, as if it had never existed.

She fell back against the pillows, pressing her palms to her eyes. Stupid. So stupid. She had let a handsome face and a few clever lines dismantle every wall she had, and now she was alone in a hotel room that probably cost two thousand dollars a night, feeling used and cheap and painfully, stupidly attached to a man whose last name she did not even know.

The memories of last night flooded her with embarrassing clarity. The way he had looked at her. The way he had touched her. The way she had begged him, screamed his name, clutched at him like he was the only thing keeping her from drowning.

She had been so vulnerable. So open.

And he had left before dawn.

She forced herself out of bed, her body aching in places she had forgotten existed. Her thighs were sore, her inner muscles tender from his size and his relentless pace. There were bruises on her hips where his fingers had gripped her, marks on her throat and breasts where his mouth had been. She looked well-fucked. Thoroughly claimed.

And completely abandoned.

She dressed in last night's clothes, the silk dress feeling obscene in the morning light, and was searching for her shoes when she spotted it.

A business card on the dresser.

Thick, cream cardstock with embossed lettering that caught the light.

Alexander Voss

Executive Director, Voss Industries

New York, London, Dubai

Lena's blood turned to ice.

She knew that name.

Everyone knew that name.

The Voss empire, real estate, shipping, technology, media. A conglomerate worth billions, headed by the notoriously ruthless Voss family. Alexander Voss was the heir apparent, the golden boy of Manhattan's elite, photographed at galas and boardrooms and yachts in Monaco. She had seen his face on magazine covers, on financial news channels, in the background of celebrity gossip blogs.

She had slept with that Alexander Voss.

She had let him undress her, taste her, fill her. She had screamed his name while one of the most powerful men in the country drove into her like she was the only thing that mattered.

And he had left before dawn.

Humiliation burned through her, hot and acid. She crumpled the card in her fist, then smoothed it out again, her hands shaking. Should she call him? Should she demand an explanation? Should she pretend it never happened and hope he did the same?

Her phone buzzed.

Lena fumbled for it, her heart leaping with a hope that died instantly when she saw the unknown number. The screen lit up with a single text message.

Unknown: Stay away from Alexander Voss. Or someone will pay.

She read it three times.

The words did not change. The threat was explicit, cold, and terrifying. Someone knew. Whoever they were, his family, his people, his enemies, they knew about the night. Or they suspected. Or they were watching her closely enough that a positive test felt inevitable.

Lena's hands trembled so badly she nearly dropped the phone. She looked around the suite as if the sender might be watching, as if the pristine walls hid cameras and listening devices. Paranoia clawed at her throat.

She grabbed her purse and ran.

In the elevator, she deleted the text. In the lobby, she kept her head down, terrified of being recognized, terrified of seeing Alexander's face on the morning news. In the taxi home, she stared out the window and made a decision.

Alexander Voss was a billionaire heir with an empire to protect.

She was a design school graduate with a broken heart and a crumpled business card.

Some stories were not meant to have a second chapter.