Dominic didn't sleep.
He stood in the dark living room, city lights reflecting in the glass as his thoughts ran like wildfire. Behind him, Arielle had finally fallen asleep—after pressing her palms against his chest and whispering that dangerous vow:
"I'm not going anywhere."
That scared him more than Charlotte showing up.
More than the secrets that might unravel.
Because if Arielle stayed, she'd see the whole of him—and there were pieces of Dominic Raine that didn't deserve light.
His phone buzzed.
A message.
Unknown Number: Tick tock, Dominic. How long until she finds out you're not her hero?
He stared at it. Unreadable. Ice-cold.
Then he deleted it.
The next morning, Arielle emerged from the bedroom with damp hair, no makeup, and Dominic's white button-down shirt hanging off one shoulder. He was still at the window, a fresh black shirt clinging to the sharp lines of his frame.
She stretched like a cat, arms above her head, teasing the hem of the shirt up her thighs. "You're brooding. Again."
"I'm thinking," he corrected.
She padded barefoot to the kitchen and began making coffee like she owned the penthouse. "Thinking usually means avoiding in your language."
His lips twitched—just a little. She had that effect. Like sunshine with claws.
"I have meetings this morning," he said.
"You always have meetings," she replied, pouring the coffee into two cups. "But today, you're edgy. Like you're waiting for something to explode."
He turned to face her, leaning against the counter. "Maybe I am."
She passed him a cup. "And I'm supposed to just sit here and act like that's normal?"
"No," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "You're supposed to trust me."
That hit her. Right in the gut.
Arielle set her coffee down. Walked to him. Slowly.
"What if I do?" she asked softly. "What if I trust you, Dominic, even though everything about you says I shouldn't?"
He met her gaze, tension winding tighter.
"Then you're braver than I thought."
She stepped even closer until their chests nearly touched, the heat between them climbing again, fueled not just by desire—but something far more dangerous: belief.
"You're not the only one with shadows," she whispered.
His eyes darkened. "I don't want to hurt you."
Her lips curved into a slow, provocative smile. "Then stop standing so close. Because the longer you do, the less I care."
And then—
She kissed him.
Not like last night. Not with desperation or alcohol or glitter from a dance floor still on her skin.
This time it was slow. Deep. Intentional.
A promise.
A dare.
His hand slid to the back of her neck, holding her in place, answering her kiss with heat that said he wasn't running anymore—not tonight, not from her.
When they finally pulled apart, breathless, she whispered against his lips:
"Now go to your meeting, Raine. Before I make you miss it."
He chuckled—actually chuckled—and stepped away reluctantly. "Temptress."
She blew him a kiss.
And as the door clicked shut behind him, Arielle leaned against the wall, heart racing.
She didn't know where this was going.
But one thing was clear.
She wasn't the same girl who walked into his office in red-bottom stilettos.
And he wasn't the untouchable CEO anymore.
They were something new.
Something dangerous.
And maybe… something real.
The elevator ride down from Dominic's penthouse was smooth—too smooth.
Arielle adjusted her oversized sunglasses and tossed her hair over one shoulder, her heels clicking confidently across the marble lobby. She didn't bother hiding the curve of a smirk tugging at her lips. Last night still lingered on her skin like a secret. The memory of his hands, his mouth, the way he said her name like a confession—
She wasn't walking.
She was floating.
Until she stepped outside.
And found a woman leaning against a sleek black car, arms crossed, legs long and wrapped in designer leather.
Charlotte.
Dominic's ex.
Her sunglasses were perched perfectly on her face, her hair sleek, her jaw tight. She looked like the type who crushed hearts without chipping her manicure.
Arielle didn't pause.
Didn't flinch.
Just walked straight past her toward the waiting valet.
But Charlotte's voice rang out like a dagger wrapped in silk.
"You're not his type, you know."
Arielle stopped.
Turned slowly.
And lowered her sunglasses just enough to meet the woman's gaze.
"Oh? You must be the brochure he handed out before I arrived."
Charlotte blinked.
Arielle stepped forward, a vision in heels and unbothered energy. "Let me guess. You thought I'd be intimidated. Sweetheart, I've handled worse than a bitter ex in a borrowed attitude."
Charlotte straightened, clearly rattled. "You think sleeping in his bed makes you important?"
Arielle's smile turned sharp. "No, I think not caring what you think makes me dangerous."
Charlotte scoffed, but Arielle wasn't done.
She took another step closer, her voice low and lethal. "Let me guess. You saw me in the tabloids and thought I was just another spoiled brat with daddy's credit card and too many lip glosses?"
Charlotte said nothing. Her silence was answer enough.
Arielle dropped her voice even lower, only inches from her. "Then let me give you a warning wrapped in Chanel and fire: I'm not the girl you read about. I'm the woman who stayed the night and left walking tall. And if you're here to play games—bring a helmet."
For a heartbeat, Charlotte said nothing.
Then, with a tight smile, she replied, "You're clever. I'll give you that."
Arielle replaced her sunglasses and turned back toward her waiting car.
"Oh honey," she said sweetly over her shoulder, "I'm a lot more than clever. I'm inevitable."
She slid into the back seat, legs crossed, voice cool as ice when she told the driver:
"Take me to Raine Corp. I feel like stirring up some chaos."
And as the car pulled away, Charlotte watched her go—eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a line.
She thought she could rattle Arielle Sinclair.
She'd just made the mistake of underestimating a woman who knew what it meant to fight back.