The envelope was thick.
Too thick for something that was supposed to feel transactional.
Eva stood by the hotel's private elevator, clutching the black envelope to her chest like it might bite. Her dress from the night before clung to her skin, wrinkled and damp with memory. Her heels clicked against marble tiles, sharp and lonely.
The ride down was silent.
No goodbyes. No words. Just his absence like smoke in her lungs.
By the time the limo dropped her two blocks from her apartment, the sun had begun to rise. The city yawned and stretched, blissfully unaware that Eva Lane had just sold a piece of herself to a man who hadn't even asked for her name.
She walked barefoot the last stretch home, shoes in hand, the cold sidewalk grounding her.
Noah was still asleep when she let herself in. His soft snores drifted from the tiny bedroom, and she paused in the hallway just to listen. Just to remember why.
Twenty thousand dollars.
She opened the envelope at the kitchen table, hands trembling. A cashier's check. Crisp, clean, unforgiving.
Eva stared at it for a long time. Not because she was debating what to do she'd already done it. But because no amount of zeroes would erase the way he'd looked at her… touched her… held her after.
Like she wasn't just a body. Like she was his.
She buried the thought.
That night could not live in her mind. It couldn't.
It was a transaction. A deal.
A dirty, twisted miracle.
...
The school office smelled like old books and worry.
"Miss Lane," the administrator said, glancing at the check with raised brows. "You've cleared Noah's outstanding tuition and prepaid the next two terms?"
Eva nodded tightly. "Yes."
"Are you sure?" the woman smiled. "That's a significant amount…"
"I'm sure."
The woman hesitated before sliding the paperwork over for Eva to sign. "Well, this will definitely make things easier for Noah. He's very bright. And he's been… distracted lately. This will help stabilize him."
Stabilize.
The word hit too close to home.
Eva took the papers, her pen shaking slightly as she signed. She knew what the woman wasn't saying single mother, struggling, under pressure.
She wasn't Noah's mother, but she was everything else. And this, this moment was why she did what she did.
Why she'd sold herself.
Why she'd walked into that man's hotel suite and let him take her apart.
For Noah.
Only for Noah.
Two days passed.
Then three.
The world didn't end. No one whispered behind her back. No black car waited outside her door with a second offer.
Eva went back to the Velvet Room.
Not because she wanted to.
Because the rent wasn't going to wait, and the money, though life changing, wasn't infinite.
Her first shift back felt… wrong. Like her skin didn't fit anymore.
Like someone had peeled her open and now she didn't know how to cover herself again.
The men at the bar were loud and drunk. One grabbed her wrist when she reached for his empty glass, his breath reeking of tequila. "Pretty girl like you shouldn't look so sad," he slurred.
Eva forced a smile, pulling free. "Just tired."
But it wasn't tiredness.
It was emptiness.
She couldn't stop thinking about his hands.
Enzo's.
How they'd explored her body like it was something sacred. Not bought.
How he'd kissed her not with hunger but with possession.
And worse, how he'd held her afterward.
She hadn't expected that. Hadn't prepared for it.
That night, alone in her bed, Eva touched her lips and felt his memory burn across them. Her legs twisted in the sheets, a pulse of heat between her thighs that made her angry.
Stop it, Eva. He paid. That's all it was.
But it wasn't.
It didn't feel like that.
And that was the part that kept her up at night.
...
Enzo stared out the penthouse window, glass of bourbon untouched in his hand.
He hadn't gone to the office. Hadn't returned Candace's calls. Hadn't answered Damian's messages either.
He was supposed to be in Berlin by now.
Instead, he was… haunted.
He'd meant to forget her.
Meant for it to be one night, one damn night to purge the ache from his system.
But it didn't work.
He still tasted her.
Still smelled the shampoo in her hair cheap, fruity, addictive.
Still heard the broken way she said his name when her body gave out beneath him.
And worst of all?
He still remembered how she looked at him in the dark. Like she could see past the monster. Like she didn't fear him.
No one looked at him that way.
Not in years.
Eva tried to be normal.
She cooked for Noah. Took him to school. Laughed when he told a joke about his teacher's wig falling off during math class.
But inside?
She was unraveling.
She woke in the middle of the night, sweaty and restless, her body aching like it had been rewired and short-circuited.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him.
The way his jaw flexed when he was restraining himself.
The cold fire in his eyes.
The bruise on her hip from where he'd gripped her too tight and the way her skin had missed the pressure once it was gone.
This wasn't what she expected.
This wasn't supposed to feel like loss.
She wasn't supposed to care.
"You've been different," her manager said during her break. "Since… well, since he came in."
Eva blinked. "Who?"
"The man. Enzo Stone."
The name made her heart stutter.
Her manager frowned. "You didn't know who he was, did you?"
Eva shook her head slowly.
"He owns this place," he muttered. "Stone Enterprises bought the Velvet Room years ago. Doesn't show up often. But when he does…"
"What?"
"He always leaves with something broken."
Eva swallowed.
So she wasn't the first.
Of course not.
But why did that make something curl, cold and angry, in her stomach?
...
Enzo watched the CCTV footage in silence.
She was back at work.
Serving drinks.
Smiling at customers.
Pretending like nothing happened.
"Sir," Damian said, standing behind him. "Are you… looking for something?"
Enzo didn't answer.
He rewound the footage. Again. Again.
Froze it when she leaned over the bar to grab a napkin.
Her hair. Her throat. The shadow of the bruise on her hip.
He'd marked her.
But she hadn't come to him.
Not once.
She didn't beg. Didn't call.
She'd walked away and vanished.
Just like that.
Like he hadn't branded her with his mouth.
Like he didn't matter.
Enzo downed the bourbon in one hard swallow.
Then stood.
"Get the car."
Damian raised a brow. "Where are we going?"
"To get her."
A pause.
"You told me it was one night," Damian said carefully.
"It was."
"Then why..."
Enzo's voice was sharp. Low.
"Because she's still in my head."
It was past midnight when Eva's shift ended.
She walked to the locker room, peeling off her uniform and slipping on her hoodie. She was halfway through zipping it when the manager poked his head in.
"Eva?"
"Yeah?"
"There's… a car waiting for you."
She froze.
A beat.
Then, "What kind of car?"
"Black. Tinted. Looks expensive."
Eva's stomach dropped.
Her pulse kicked up.
She walked out to the alley behind the club, the cool air biting her skin through the hoodie.
The car door opened before she reached it.
A familiar face stepped out.
Damian.
And behind him, the dark silhouette of a man remained in the back seat, barely visible.
But she knew.
She felt him.
"Miss Lane," Damian said, his voice polite. "Mr. Stone would like a word."
Eva's lips parted.
A hundred emotions flickered in her eyes fear, defiance, longing.
And something else.
Something dangerous.
She didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Until Damian added, "He said you wouldn't come. Said you'd be too stubborn."
Eva arched a brow.
"Did he?" she said softly.
"Yeah. And he also said something else."
"What?"
He opened the back door wider.
And from inside, Enzo's voice drifted out rough, raw, low:
"Bring her back."