Chapter 1 The Encounter

The glass in Sophia Carter's hand was her fourth. Maybe fifth. She'd stopped counting after the second, when the sting of humiliation had begun to settle somewhere deep behind her ribs. The bar's dim lighting made it easy to blend in, to disappear into the velvet shadows and pretend she wasn't unraveling beneath the surface.

The low hum of sultry jazz curled through the air like smoke, weaving itself around the tinkling of glasses and the muted chatter of the city's elite. It was the kind of place you came to escape, to indulge, or to forget. Sophia was doing all three.

Her tailored blazer hung off one shoulder, her blouse slightly unbuttoned, exposing just enough collarbone to make her feel something-feminine, powerful, maybe even desirable. Today had been hell. She had spent months preparing the marketing pitch of her life, only to have her idea shot down in front of a full boardroom by a junior exec who couldn't spell "innovation" if it was stapled to his forehead. She hadn't even fought back. Just nodded stiffly, gathered her files, and walked out like a good little soldier.

And now she was here, drinking overpriced whiskey in a bar she couldn't really afford, in heels she should've taken off an hour ago.

"Rough day?" came a voice-smooth, deep, with the kind of confidence that made her spine straighten.

Sophia turned slowly, glass halfway to her lips. He stood beside her stool, hands in his pockets, wearing a perfectly tailored navy suit that hugged broad shoulders and a trim waist. His tie was loosened, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing just enough of a strong, tanned throat to suggest danger. Or indulgence. Maybe both.

His eyes were a shade between storm and smoke-gray with an edge of steel-and they were fixed on her with amused interest.

She lifted a brow, setting the glass down. "Let me guess-you read minds."

"No," he said with a half-smile, sliding into the stool beside her uninvited. "But I've had my share of rough days. And you look like you're trying very hard to forget one."

"Maybe I am."

"And is it working?"

Sophia tilted her head, considering him. "That depends. Are you here to help or distract me?"

"Why not both?"

A laugh slipped past her lips before she could stop it. She hated how rusty it sounded, like she'd forgotten how to flirt-how to feel anything that wasn't strategic or guarded. But something about him-his unshakable calm, the glint of humor under the confidence-was starting to chip away at the walls she wore like armor.

"What's your name?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Let's not do names tonight."

That should have been a red flag. An exit sign. But instead, it made her pulse skip.

"No names?"

"No history. No baggage. Just one night."

The offer hung between them, bold and forbidden.

Sophia stared at him, her heart thudding like a slow drum. She didn't do one-night stands. She barely did dating. Her last relationship had left scars that hadn't fully healed, and she'd buried herself in work ever since. But tonight... tonight something in her wanted to burn. Just once.

She leaned closer, her voice low. "You always proposition strangers in bars?"

He smiled. "Only the ones who look like they need to remember how to feel something."

And damn him, it worked. Her body buzzed with awareness. His presence was like gravity, drawing her in until logic blurred and heat replaced caution. She hadn't felt like this in years-alive, electric, wanted.

"I could walk away right now," she said, more to herself than him.

"You could," he agreed, then leaned in, brushing his fingers lightly over her bare wrist. "But you won't."

Sophia's breath caught.

Twenty minutes later, they were in the backseat of a black town car, his hand resting lightly on her thigh, the city's lights a blur outside the window. Neither spoke. Words felt unnecessary now-too small for the hunger coiling between them.

The elevator ride to the penthouse suite was tense, breathless. She leaned against the wall, and he caged her in with his body, his lips hovering near her ear.

"You can still change your mind."

"I don't want to."

When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, he grabbed her hand and pulled her inside.

The suite was sleek, opulent-glass walls and dark marble, plush furniture and dim lighting that set the perfect stage. But Sophia didn't notice any of it.

The moment the door closed, he was on her-mouth hungry, hands rough but reverent. Her jacket hit the floor, followed by his tie, his shirt, her blouse. Their kisses were wild, frenzied, filled with everything unspoken and unmet. She moaned when his lips found the curve of her neck, when his hands slid under her skirt, bold and unrelenting.

They moved together like a storm-pulling, tumbling, burning. Clothing fell away, barriers crumbled. Every touch was an unspoken command. Every gasp, a surrender. His body covered hers on the bed, the sheets cool against her back as he made her forget every rule she'd ever written for herself.

She didn't know his name. Didn't want to. In that moment, he was just heat, breath, sensation.

Their bodies moved in rhythm, a dance of need and desire. He whispered things against her skin, praises and curses, his voice rough with hunger. And when she came undone beneath him, her fingers digging into his back, she felt something crack open inside her-something she'd locked away long ago.

Later, as she lay in the afterglow, watching the shadows flicker across the ceiling, she realized she hadn't just lost herself in him-she'd remembered who she used to be.

But when she woke up alone in the soft dawn light, her heart panicked.

She scribbled a note on the hotel's stationery-"Thanks for the distraction. No regrets."-and walked away before she could change her mind.