Thud.
I slam the car door shut, huffing. Heavy. Suffocating. Something I'd rather not name.
Nova.
That girl with maddening brown eyes and a tongue so sharp I know she's bled for years trying to tame it.
She dared to call me—me, Aaron William Laurent, the man women in high society gamble their dignity for—a failed lab experiment.
I don't know what makes the blood in my veins run so hot. Her audacity? Or her frustration?
My palm scrapes down my face as I lean back against the seat, trying to calm my pulse… and the painful strain of my cock. The same cock that reacts to her defiance like it's a trigger.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath. "Am I really hard over a woman who just—"
My eyes drop to the bulge pressing against my pants. I can't remember the last time my body betrayed me like this. No woman ever managed to light me up—not even when my grandfather paraded prostitutes, escorts, and billionaire daughters in front of me.
With them, sex was mechanical—my focus on their pleasure because mine refused to come. Doctors said I was fine. Just… waiting.
And now, the one who wakes me up is her?
A woman who lights up over pizza and soda. Who dips her feet in a pool where frustrated idiots jerked off. Who smiles like it costs nothing, yet her real smile is buried somewhere deep.
A woman who doesn't even know who the hell Aaron William Laurent is, even though the entire company memorizes the Laurent family tree.
That sharp tongue of hers—so confident it made me question my own face.
Dangerous. Too fucking dangerous. For my cock, for my sanity.
And the worst part? Some dark, untamed part of me wants her to insult me again.
Call me uglier. Sharper. Cut me open with that mouth… just so I can shut it with mine and taste if her lips are sweet like her eyes or bitter like her words.
"Fuck," I whisper again, jaw clenched. "This isn't like me."
Ting.
The buzz of my phone yanks me out of thoughts I've never had for anyone. I grab a bottle of water and down it in one go, trying—and failing—to ignore the situation straining against my pants.
Ting.
Another buzz. I pull the phone out of my pocket. It feels like someone dumped ice water over my veins.
> "Sebastian has refused to meet you. He said if you have proof of your innocence in Oscar's matter, only then he will cooperate."
If Alister says Sebastian refuses, it means one thing: he doesn't care about the truth. He never did. He just wants leverage.
The phone hits the back seat with a thud. My fist clamps around the steering wheel until my knuckles bleach white. Ears ringing.
Sebastian… you shouldn't make me your enemy. Even if we were once friends, mercy is gone.
Because now I have too much to lose. Too much to win. With conspiracies closing in, I can't fight alone. I need reliable hands.
Not friends—they have their own wars, too big for my battles. No. I need one person.
Sharp enough to see through bullshit. Intuitive enough to step forward—or back—when needed.
Harmless-looking. Pretending to be kind. Lulling others into lowering their guard.
Trainable. Durable. Someone whose loyalty can be bought with money and security.
Someone who can even talk back to me when needed.
My eyes close. The fire from before dies, leaving me cold. Heavy.
But her voice slices through the dark—
"Meeting you was the start of my happily ever after, my beautiful moon."
Soft. Warm. Certain.
Confident enough to leave no doubt she chose me—after war, after ruin.
She isn't real. She can't be real. She shouldn't be real.
Yet… what if she is?
My chest tightens. Hope is a poison, but even now it burns through me. In a world where my own blood wages war against me, where my walls are too high for anyone to cross—
Who the hell would ever dare to say something like that… to me?
Rain starts pouring, a calming drum against the car glass.
My eyes dart over the droplets, watching people scramble for shelter. Everyone chasing something. Always chasing.
Then, my body freezes.
The woman in red—the one who made me feel alive when I thought I was dead—doesn't bother seeking shelter.
Water clings to her, and she smiles wide, harmless, facing the rain.
My knuckles tighten on the wheel. I turn on the windshield wiper for a better look.
Through the black one-way glass, only I see her.
Maybe it's the certainty she won't see me watching, or maybe just the sight of her standing there, letting the rain drench her.
My cock stiffens again, but that's the least of my concern.
Her hair clings to her face, brown eyes sparkling with mischief. She grins like she's betting against the universe itself.
My chest tightens, hands itching to—
No, Aaron!
She's your employee. What the fuck is wrong with you?
I shake my head, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. I glance down at my throbbing cock, which has forgotten any sense of time, place, or shame—all because of Nova.
Maybe it's not Nova. Maybe I'm finally functioning again.
Yes, that must be it. She isn't even that pretty… no… I mean… yes… no… fuck! I'm not into girls like her.
I nod to myself. Grabbing my phone from the backseat, I dial the man who's probably the biggest playboy I know: Li Zhao.
By the second ring, loud music blasts from the other side. "Hey, Ron! Missed me?" His voice is cheerful, oblivious to my inner chaos.
"Do you have any girl over there?" My voice comes out rough, restrained—even I don't recognize it.
Li Zhao gasps, rustling someone away. "Girl? You mean you want someone to spend the night with? You… Aaron William Laurent, who didn't even feel the urge to sleep with the prettiest woman in France!"
I groan low, eyes flicking back to Nova. She dances in the rain now, no red blaze, just a white shirt clinging to every curve like sin itself. Red bra straps peek through. Her hips sway with a rhythm all her own.
My body burns. Suffocating. Embarrassing.
"Just tell me if you have one."
Li Zhao starts to reply—
I cut the call. Jaw tight, eyes narrow. The world outside ceases to exist.
I savor her freedom, memorizing her smile, her deep dimples. Torturous… yet I enjoy it.
Yet slowly, subtly, as the rain dies down and the city returns to its usual rhythm, she takes a long, deep breath—and unconsciously, I do too.
As she exhales, her shoulders drop in relaxation. Mine follow.
She walks off, slipping on her blazer and running a hand through her wet hair.
Finally, I manage to drive away—toward the bar.
Somewhere deep inside, I know Li Zhao could get me the most beautiful woman in London, yet none of them would stir this need inside me. None would make me want to hold her, press my lips to her skin, worship her body and mind, pull her into my arms until there was no space left between us.
And I have zero fucking idea why I feel this way about the woman I just met.
Pathetic Laurent. At the end of the day, you're just a man.
I drive through the city in silence. The engine hum fades into nothing but my own racing pulse.
I have countless things to worry about—enemies closing in, business deals, building trustworthy allies within the company, handling my uncle's schemes, living up to my father's expectations—all without revealing my hand.
Yet all I can think about is her smile. That smile, the way it lights up her eyes, her whole body… it penetrates me like something I've been dying for without even knowing.
I stop the car at the bar. Normally, unless it's about business or one of my more… clandestine operations, bars aren't my kind of chaos.
But tonight, I need it.
I need it before I do something that shatters my control.
Stepping out, the cold, fresh air—carrying the scent of rain and earth—makes me shiver. I don't bother with my phone or coat.
Two of Li Zhao's guards approach, bowing ninety degrees. I toss them my car key.
"Young Master Li is waiting for you in the red room," one says.
I glance at him. "You're new?"
His eyes flicker to mine, then he nods. "Yes, Sir."
I look at the other man, familiar from past encounters with Li Zhao. Alert. Efficient.
"Follow me," I order, my voice carrying the usual cold edge.
They exchange a glance, handing my car key to a bar guard who's known me for years. Then they fall in line behind me.
I pause as we pass the entrance. "Walk before me."
They obey. Their posture is tense, fingers fidgeting. Careful eyes scanning.
Ha. I can't believe even among Li Zhao's men, there are moles.
How do I know? Li Zhao's men—every single one—never calls him "Young Master."
Zhao is picky with his recruits: rough, rugged, street-thug energy dressed in Armani.
These two? Tall, well-built, faces too soft and harmless-looking for his usual preference.
Who managed to slip moles into Zhao's crew? The heir of one of the richest conglomerates in Asia, the golden pig of the Li family, the man who runs Europe's largest security firm—protecting royalty and criminals alike.
And just like that, my reason for coming to the bar has shifted.
No longer to find a woman. No longer to see if anyone else could stir me like Nova.
Now it's about catching the traitors hiding in my friend's inner circle.
Excellent.