The night was thick with shadows, the bar bathed in dim, sultry light. The air was laced with the scent of alcohol and hormones.
9:45 PM.
Charlotte's high heels clicked crisply across the marble floor of the nearly empty office building, each step echoing like a countdown.
She'd only come to drop off a file her boyfriend had forgotten.
His phone had been left at her place, and he'd just texted her asking for it.
But the moment she pushed the door open, she walked into betrayal, laid bare.
On the office couch, Ryan was hovering over another woman, suit jacket hanging off one arm, his hand gripping the pale expanse of her thigh.
She knew the woman. The daughter of Ryan's boss.
Time froze.
Charlotte didn't scream. She didn't throw anything. She simply stood there, poised, watching them scramble apart with detached curiosity.
Ryan fumbled to zip up. "Char...Charlotte! Let me explain!"
She calmly placed the file on the desk, her voice as steady as ice, "Don't stop on my account. Carry on. Don't worry about me."
She turned to leave, only to feel him grip her wrist.
"Charlotte, I didn't mean to betray you... it's her…She threatened me. Her dad is my boss. I owe the company money... If I don't give her what she wants, I'll lose everything—"
"So you chose her."
She let out a low chuckle and yanked her wrist free. "Hope your body's worth the debt, Ryan."
Then she pulled out her phone and blocked his number with surgical precision.
"Starting now, you're a stranger."
And just like that, she walked out, heels clicking with finality.
11:43 PM.
Charlotte sat at the bar, nursing her third glass of vodka. The burn matched the fire in her eyes.
Dressed in a sleek black dress that hugged her curves, collarbones sharp, lips a dangerous crimson—she looked like a blooming rose with hidden thorns.
"Another," she told the bartender.
"You've had a lot already."
"I just broke up with someone."
The bartender wordlessly slid her another shot.
She raised the glass, about to down it, when someone in the corner caught her eye.
A man.
Dressed in a tailored black suit, long legs crossed, he swirled a glass of red wine with elegant boredom. He was striking—like a sliver of moonlight too distant to touch.
He was still. Too still. It pulled her in.
Charlotte stood up, drink in hand, and walked toward him.
"Hey, handsome. Alone tonight?"
He lifted his gaze.
Eyes dark and unreadable, like a deep well. They narrowed slightly as they landed on her, cool and assessing.
"You've had too much," he said, voice low and smooth, like velvet soaked in scotch.
She smirked. "But I'm not drunk yet."
She slid onto the seat beside him, deliberately close.
He didn't move. Just looked at her with a faint frown, "Don't play with fire. I'm not someone you can handle."
Charlotte's smile widened. She tucked a bill into the breast pocket of his suit.
"We're both adults. One night doesn't mean anything. I'll pay you."
He finally reacted.
His hand closed around her wrist—large, strong, his grip firm without hurting. The sleeve of his suit rode up just slightly, revealing a forearm sculpted with lean muscle, veins subtly raised like rivers under taut skin.
Charlotte's eyes flicked down. She lingered.
He noticed.
A smirk played on his lips, dark amusement gleaming in his gaze. "You're offering to pay me for sex?"
"Yep," she said, utterly unapologetic.
He leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear, voice barely above a whisper. "Sweetheart… you couldn't afford me."
She blinked. Then laughed, eyes lighting up. "You're the biggest tease I've seen tonight."
He chuckled too, but his stare turned razor-sharp. "And you, Miss Charlotte, are looking for trouble. Wanting to forget your ex, or just craving something dangerous?"
"You know my name?"
"What's the matter?" she teased. "Scared, big guy?"
He arched a brow, standing slowly, stepping in close. "Hope you're ready to deal with what you've started."
"Where are we going?"
"You said one night. Let's make it count."
He swept her up effortlessly, one strong arm wrapping around her waist as if she weighed nothing.
They ended up in a dim alley behind the bar. The car door had barely shut before he caged her against it.
The wind was cool, but his scent—woodsy cologne and fine whiskey—wrapped around her, dizzying.
His arm braced beside her head, muscle tight, veins bulging just under sun-kissed skin. Every inch of him looked carved from discipline.
Charlotte tilted her head back to meet his gaze, her own slightly hazy but daring.
"Are you really doing this?"
He laughed, low and dark, his Adam's apple shifting. "Didn't you say this was a transaction between adults?"
Then he grabbed her chin, and kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. It was a claim.
His lips crashed onto hers, tongue pushing past her lips with practiced hunger, stealing the air from her lungs.
She gasped, fingers curling around his shirt, feeling the heat of his body, the sculpted tension beneath.
Pain and pleasure blurred as he pressed against her harder, and a shaky moan slipped from her throat.
He chuckled against her mouth. "Already falling apart? Darling, we've only just begun."