Dominic's POV
I threw the coffee mug before I could stop myself.
Pathetic. I was absolutely pathetic.
The mug shattered against the wall, and Nora Chen stood in my doorway looking at me like I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had. Because the coffee was perfectly fine—hot, black, exactly how I liked it. I threw it anyway.
I threw it because she'd walked into my office wearing that smile, the one that made my chest tight, and I needed her to leave before I did something stupid. Like tell her the truth. Like admit that I'd been obsessed with her for two years and hated myself for it.
"Would you like me to stick my hand in the coffee pot first?" Her voice dripped sarcasm. "Maybe burn myself a little for your convenience?"
God, I loved it when she fought back.
And that was the problem, wasn't it? I loved everything about Nora Chen. Her sharp tongue. Her refusal to be intimidated. The way her brown eyes flashed fire when she was angry. The tiny gap between her front teeth that showed when she really smiled—not the fake professional smile, but the real one she saved for her friend Jasmine.
I wanted to be the person who made her smile like that.
I couldn't be.
"Just bring me coffee that doesn't taste like garbage," I snapped, forcing ice into my voice. "Move."
She left, and I immediately wanted to call her back. Apologize. Explain.
But I didn't. I never did.
I watched from my window as she stomped past the other offices, saw her friend Jasmine stop her in the hallway. Nora's whole body was tense with anger. Good. Let her be angry. Anger was safer than what I actually wanted from her.
My phone buzzed. Uncle Marcus. Of course.
I let it ring three times before answering. "What."
"Dominic." His voice was heavy with concern. "I had another dream last night. About your mother."
I closed my eyes. "Uncle Marcus, not today—"
"She was reaching for your father, and then she was gone. Just like it happened. Just like it always happens." He paused. "You turn thirty-five in two weeks."
"I know how old I am."
"Do you? Because you're acting like a man who's forgotten what this family is. What we lose." His voice cracked. "Your grandfather lost his wife at thirty-four. Your father lost your mother the same year. I lost Rebecca when I was thirty-four. Every Kane man, Dominic. Every single one."
"That doesn't mean—"
"It means you don't get to fall in love!" He was shouting now. "You don't get that luxury. Because everyone we love dies before we turn thirty-five. It's not a coincidence. It's a curse."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him he was being paranoid. But my mother's face flashed in my mind—beautiful and young in the one photo I had, taken a week before she died giving birth to me. My father had killed himself two years later, unable to live without her.
Love destroyed Kane men. It always had.
"I'm not in love with anyone," I lied.
"Good. Keep it that way. Two more weeks, and you'll be safe. The curse only takes them before thirty-five. After that, you're free."
Free. What a joke. I'd never been free in my life.
After he hung up, I stood at my window and watched Nora hurry across the lobby toward the break room. Even from up here, I could see the tension in her shoulders. I'd put that there. I was always putting that there.
Because if I was cruel enough, she'd stay away. If I pushed hard enough, she'd quit. And if she quit, she'd be safe from whatever darkness followed my family around.
The problem was she didn't quit. Two years, and Nora Chen was still here, still fighting me, still making me want things I couldn't have.
My computer dinged with a calendar reminder: "Christmas party, 5 PM. Mandatory attendance."
Right. The party I'd forgotten about. The one where I'd have to watch Nora laugh with other people, dance with other men, be happy with everyone except me.
I should cancel it. Should spare myself the torture.
But I wouldn't. Because even torture was better than not seeing her at all.
I was pathetic.
Twenty minutes later, she returned with fresh coffee and the Reynolds report. She wouldn't look at me. Just set everything on my desk with robotic efficiency.
"Why do you do that?" The question escaped before I could stop it.
"Do what?"
"Fight back." I needed to understand her. "You argue. You push back. Why?"
She blinked, surprised. Good. I'd surprised myself too.
"Do you want me to stop?" Her voice was cautious.
"I didn't say that."
We stared at each other. The air felt thick, charged with something dangerous. I stood up without meaning to, walked around my desk without planning it. Suddenly I was close enough to see the gold flecks in her brown eyes, close enough to smell her shampoo—something floral and sweet.
"Ms. Chen." My voice came out rougher than intended. "Nora."
Her breath caught when I said her first name. I never used her first name. It was too intimate, too real. But right now, with her standing this close, I couldn't remember why I cared about rules.
"I—" she started.
Then her phone buzzed.
The spell broke. She grabbed for it like a lifeline, looked at the screen, and her face went white. Actually white. All the color drained away in a second.
"What's wrong?" I stepped closer, instinct overriding caution.
"Nothing. I—I have to go." She was backing away, clutching her phone. "The decorations for the party. Excuse me."
She ran. Actually ran from my office like something was chasing her.
I stood there like an idiot, wanting to follow her, knowing I shouldn't. Whatever message she'd gotten had terrified her. I'd seen it in her eyes—pure panic.
I wanted to fix it. Wanted to hunt down whatever had scared her and destroy it.
But I had no right. I'd made sure of that.
I poured myself whiskey even though it was barely noon. Drank it in one burning swallow. Poured another.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number. I almost ignored it, then saw the message: "She's in trouble. Real trouble. If you care about Nora Chen at all, you'll go to Winter's Wishes on Bleecker Street tonight at 9 PM. Bring your checkbook."
Ice flooded my veins.
I typed back immediately: "Who is this? What trouble?"
The response came instantly: "A friend. She's about to lose everything. You have money. She has pride. Come alone, or she'll never forgive you for interfering. 9 PM sharp. Don't be late."
Then another message: "P.S. - The curse is real, but not the way you think. Your uncle is wrong about everything. Come tonight if you want the truth."
My hands shook.
Someone knew about Nora's problem. Knew about the curse. Knew things they shouldn't know.
I grabbed my coat.
Screw the party. Screw work. Screw every rule I'd made to keep distance between us.
If Nora was in trouble, I was going to fix it.
Even if it killed me.
Especially if it killed me.
Because maybe Uncle Marcus was right about one thing—Kane men didn't survive love. But we loved anyway.
And I'd been in love with Nora Chen since the first day she'd told me my coffee tasted like burnt garbage and walked out of my office with her head held high.
I checked my watch. Eight hours until 9 PM.
Eight hours to decide if I was brave enough to face whatever waited at that antique shop.
Eight hours to choose between protecting Nora from the curse or protecting her from everything else.
My phone buzzed one final time.
Another message from the unknown number: "She's going to the shop too. She got an invitation. If you don't show up, someone else will help her instead. Someone who won't care about keeping their distance. Your choice, Mr. Kane."
I stared at those words, jealousy and terror warring in my chest.
Someone else. Helping Nora. Touching Nora. Being close to her while I hid behind my family's ghost stories.
I typed one word: "I'll be there."
The response was immediate: "Good. Don't chicken out. And Dominic? Bring the red gift box from your desk drawer. You'll need it."
I froze.
No one knew about that box. No one. I'd hidden it in my locked desk drawer three days ago after buying it from some weird old lady at an antique shop I'd wandered into like a man possessed.
A lingerie set. Champagne silk and lace. In Nora's exact size.
I'd planned to give it to her at the Christmas party tomorrow as a secret Santa gift, then chickened out and bought wine instead.
How did this person know about it?
How did they know about any of this?
My office suddenly felt too small, too cold.
I walked to my desk, unlocked the drawer, pulled out the red box.
The note inside, written in my own handwriting, stared up at me: "For the bunny who hopped into my messages."
But I'd never sent Nora any messages. Never called her bunny.
The note didn't make sense.
Unless...
Unless this wasn't about what had happened.
This was about what was going to happen.
And I had exactly eight hours to figure out what the hell was going on.