"I've tried filing the paperwork multiple times, but it's always rejected."

A sharpness entered his gaze, and his fingers moved over the top of his glass.

"He's well-connected to powerful people." I answered the question he never asked. "And he'll put me through hell to get away from him."

"Power and wealth go hand in hand," he said. "So why are you working here?"

"Because I don't want his money. I was poor before him, and I can be poor after him." It had been a harsh change, not having a driver to take me where I needed to go, getting my own groceries and carrying them up the stairs, having to do my own laundry and make sure I didn't turn the heater too high. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to afford the bill. But it was still better than a life of luxury with a liar.

He continued to stare at me, his eyes narrowing in interest. "I could ask what prompted you to run, but I think I already know the answer." He shook the glass and took another drink. "Men say women are complicated, but they aren't. Just text back, and don't stick your dick in other people. Pretty straightforward."

I abandoned my cleanup at the bar because I'd become engrossed in this deep conversation with a stranger, feeling a connection to someone I didn't know. "Are you in a relationship?"

"No." He looked at me head on, having so much confidence it was nearly toxic. "I don't text back, and I like to stick my dick in a lot of places." He drank from his glass without breaking the connection with our eyes.

I felt no disappointment because that was exactly what I'd expected from him. If he was trying to pick me up, he wasn't doing it in a sleazy way. He was brutally honest, that if we left the bar together, I wouldn't hear from him again. He would probably be gone before I woke up in the morning. But honesty was a trait that I valued the instant I realized my marriage lacked it. "He wasn't the one to tell me. I had to hear it from her."

He didn't cast judgment or voice an opinion. Just stared at me and listened.

"He's been trying to get me back. Tightens his grip when he feels me slip further away."

"How long have you been married?"

"A couple years."

He gave a slight nod. "That's not a good sign. Who was the woman?"

"Someone he works with. Said it didn't mean anything."

Both of his elbows went to the bar as he leaned forward, cupping his knuckles in the other hand, the muscles and cords visible up and down his arms.

"I asked if there were others... He said no."

"You believe him?"

"I-I don't know." Every time I thought about what he'd done, I felt so shitty that I wanted to curl into a ball in the corner. It disgusted me, thinking about where his dick had been before it pounded inside me like there had never been any treason.

He continued to watch me, rubbing his knuckles like they were sore from a recent brawl.

"Have any advice?"

He lowered his hands to the counter, taller than me even when he sat down because he had a foot and a half of height on me. "I don't give advice-just opinion."

"Okay, then. What's your opinion?"

A subtle smile moved on to his lips as his eyes flicked away for the first time. "You don't want my opinion, sweetheart."

I hated it when men called me that, when they tried to get my attention from across the bar with the endearment, but Bastien pulled it off like it was my actual name. "I want honesty, and that's something I haven't gotten in a while."

His eyes came back to me and stayed there for a long time, studying my face like he could see words in bold ink across my skin. He tilted his head slightly before he released a sigh. "Trust is like glass. It takes time to heat and temper, to make it transparent for both parties to see through. But once it's shattered, there are so many broken pieces on the floor that it's impossible to put back together. A year may pass, and you'll step into the kitchen barefoot for a glass of water and get a shard in your heel. And you'll remember how it got there."

A pain settled on my heart, an anchor lowered from a ship, a disappointment so heavy it dropped to the bottom of the ocean.

"Power and wealth can be taken away-and all that's left is your word. If you don't have that, then you don't have anything. He betrayed his word when he betrayed you, so he betrayed himself. There was a chance of redemption by being honest with you, but he chose cowardice instead."

I hadn't expected this beautiful man at the bar to have so much depth, to be more than a pretty face with a stiff drink in his hand.

"He tells you there was no one else, but because his word is invalid, you don't know if you can believe him. A man should treat a woman with the same respect he treats his boys. If anything, she should be his number one guy."

"You make it sound like you've been in a relationship before."

"No." His hand rested on the top of his glass. "And that's why I haven't been in one. I know what it takes-and I haven't found a woman worth the effort. Probably never will. Not that I'm looking anyway." He stared at me as he took a drink from his glass. "So what are you going to do?"

"I'm not sure if I have much of a choice." Adrien would never stop, constantly blocking any motion to legally separate, showing up at my work and my apartment, as if I would find his persistence charming when fidelity was far more romantic.

"You always have a choice."

"You don't know my husband."

"But I know men." He gave me a hard stare. "And I know how to get rid of yours."

"How?"

He shifted his position on the stool, his shirt gripping his muscles with the movement, cords visible up his neck despite the ink that covered his skin. He had a skull right at the center of his throat, a dagger up the right side of his neck, the edge of the blade right at his jawline. "Fuck someone."

Heat from a roaring fire burst inside me, picturing him as the one doing all the fucking. Buck naked and deep inside me, his fat dick making me come with minimal effort. I knew he had a big dick because of the big dick energy he'd brought into the bar when he'd first walked in.

"No man can see past his ego, and he seems no different to me."

"What about you? Do you have a big ego?"

He smirked. "I wouldn't be a man if I didn't." He took another drink, making the glass empty with the exception of the ice cubes that hadn't melted yet. "I'll take the tab, sweetheart."

It was the time for him to make his move, but I suspected the offer would never come. He was the magnet that drew everyone in. He didn't need to chase anyone. Just sit there and wait for all the pretty girls to come to him.

I moved down the bar to the computer and generated his tab, putting in all the drinks that would have put a normal man flat on the floor. But before I could print the tab, I glanced to the other side of the room and instinctively knew something wasn't right.

Three men entered the bar, moving far too fast if all they wanted was a drink. And they had handkerchiefs tied over the bottom half of their faces to hide their identities from the cameras in all the corners.

Frozen to the spot, all I could do was stand there and watch one of them come at me-with a fucking machete.

He held up the machete at eye level. "Cash in the bag." He tossed a burlap sack on the counter. The other two men also had their machetes out, watching everyone else in the bar to make sure no one came to my rescue.

I stilled on the spot, struggling to breathe through the sheer panic.

"Bitch, fill the bag."

I didn't gasp or scream, but I was frozen to the spot in sheer terror.

"You picked the wrong bar, man."

My eyes glanced at Bastien, who remained on the stool. Everyone else at the bar had scurried to the wall. The other people in the seating area had tried to crawl under their tables or put their shaking arms in the air. Bastien was the only one who regarded the situation with an insane level of calm.

The man turned his attention to Bastien, taking the heat and the knife off me. "What'd you say, asshole?"

"I'm not the one threatening a girl with a knife, asshole." He left the stool and stood upright, and he seemed to grow several inches taller from when he had walked inside. He brandished no weapon other than his words, but he was still armed to the teeth with invisible power. "Homines ex codice."

My eyes flicked back and forth between them, having no idea what was transpiring.

The words were in Latin, but the meaning was unclear. I couldn't tell if my assailant understood what that meant or if he was just as bewildered as I was.

There was a silent standoff between them, a tension that rose like flames from a newly lit bonfire. The bar was normally loud and boisterous with chatter and laughter, but now it'd gone deadly quiet-like a graveyard.

The asshole with the machete moved, slashing his weapon down like he would hack Bastien to pieces.

I screamed in terror and moved for one of the empty bottles behind the counter.

It happened so fast that I wasn't sure exactly what transpired, but Bastien made the other man's face bloody and wrested the machete free. He slammed the guy's face down on the counter, not once but twice-and broke his nose. He pinned his head to the top of the counter and looked at me. "Your turn, sweetheart."

I slammed the bottle down on his head, and it shattered into pieces.

"Nice swing." Bastien let go, and the man dropped to the floor in a pile of broken glass and blood.

The other two rushed to the door to split when shit got real, but Bastien got there first and punched one so hard in the face he slammed into the wall and collapsed on the floor. He made a series of moves on the other guy, blocking the arm holding the machete before slamming his elbow straight into his head and knocking him out cold.

When he was done, a strained silence enveloped the bar, everyone still too afraid to move or speak.

Bastien walked across the hardwood floor and the broken glass, back to the counter where I stood. He pulled out his wallet and rifled through the euros that were stuffed into it, and as if nothing serious had just happened, he asked, "What do I owe you?"

The bar closed and the police came. They asked Bastien a couple of questions, but it seemed like they already knew him because they didn't ask who he was. In fact, they treated him like a superior.

I stepped outside into the cold, the air wet from a drizzle that had just passed through. The pavement was wet from the recent rainfall, and a few people were on the street because no one ever slept in this city.

Bastien came outside a moment later and looked me over. "You alright?"

"A little frazzled, but I'm fine."

He continued to stare me down with those piercing blue eyes. "It's okay not to be fine."

My eyes flicked away, touched by the softness he was showing when he had been so ruthless a moment ago. "I know it is."

"Where's your apartment?"

I normally wouldn't give out my address to a stranger, but he somehow felt like anything but a stranger even though I only knew his first name. "Rue Coquilliere. By the Louvre."

"I'll walk you."

"I'm okay⁠-"

"Come on." He took the lead, stepping into the empty street under the bright lampposts, moving past a building that had stood the test of time and survived the Second World War. "We have a conversation to finish."

We walked down the wet pavement together, side by side, but nothing was really said. He seemed to be a long-term resident of the city because he knew exactly where he was going, knew exactly what street to take without looking at his phone for guidance.

"How long have you lived in Paris?"

"All my life. You?"

"Same."

That was the extent of our conversation. We passed Loup on the corner and walked down the path where the restaurants were located beneath my apartment. There was a small road for cars, but only taxis pulled up to the area. Right now, it was deserted, all the restaurants closed except for Au Pied de Cochon.

He seemed to know it was one of the few restaurants open all hours of the day because he checked in with the host and asked for a table outside. The second we sat down, he lit up a cigar and blew the smoke into the air. We were the only ones outside because it was either too cold or too late.

He offered me a cigar.

"No thanks." I reached into my purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. I lit up and felt the hit of nicotine the second the smoke hit my lungs.

He gave a subtle smile before he held his cigar between his fingertips. "You don't strike me as a smoker."

"I quit a couple years ago."

"But carry a pack wherever you go." He returned the cigar to his mouth and pulled in a puff before he let it out from his nostrils.

My eyes narrowed but in a playful way. "You are an asshole."

His smirk widened.

"I started up again once I moved out."

The playfulness evaporated, and he gave a slight nod in understanding.

"It's always been my vice."

"Everyone has their poison. No shame in that."

"Yes, but I want to live to see middle age at least."

He looked at the street as people passed, only a person every now and then, coming from the mall far down the way.

"You don't worry about that?"

He let the smoke leave his mouth before he answered. "No."

"Why?"

"I don't expect to live long-nor do I desire it." When he spotted the waitress in the window, he waved her over. "I'll take a scotch on the rocks. And whatever she's having."

I ordered my drink, and she left.

The last thing he said hadn't left my mind. "Why do you feel that way?"

He looked as he let the cigar rest between his fingertips, and the strength of his stare seemed to be his answer-or lack thereof.

I didn't press the question again, remembering we'd met just a few hours ago and I wasn't entitled to such personal information. "Are you a cop?"

A smile that lit up all his features hit his face, and when he chuckled, it came from deep in his chest. "No."

"It seemed like they knew you."

"Oh, they know me."

"But you aren't a cop."

He gave a slight shake of his head. "There are more than cops and bandits. The food web is a lot bigger than most people realize."

"And where do you fit in this food web?"

He took another puff of his cigar. The waitress came out and brought our drinks before she returned to the warmth inside the restaurant. He glanced out at the darkness and the sycamore trees that lined the sidewalk before he looked at me again. "At the top."

I didn't consider my husband to be a criminal because he didn't kill people, but he made his money in less than notable ways. He and his guys stole famous pieces of art and replaced them with fakes because they sold the originals on the black market for a pretty penny. There were men out there with real van Goghs, da Vincis, and Michelangelos in their bathrooms-while the museums had counterfeits. Now I suspected Bastien was on a whole different-and dangerous-level. "The less I know, the better."

"Smart girl." He released the smoke from his mouth and let it float on the cool air. "And you've got a steely spine too. I like that."

"How so?"

"Most women would just put up with a man's infidelity so they could live in a big house and drive a nice car. But not you. You're an idealist, a woman of great moral character, who knows she's worth more than a man's bullshit. That's hot."

I held his stare but felt the warmth in my cheeks. Everyone I knew had told me to take Adrien back, that it was a one-time mistake and I should fight for the marriage. While there were times I considered it, letting it go didn't sit right with me.

"And you held your ground with that asshole. Didn't scream or cry."

"Make no mistake, I was fucking scared."

"But you didn't show it." He lowered the cigar and gave me a harder stare than he had before, full of authority and command. "And that's what matters. You reached for that wine bottle with every intention to kill-and you swung." He took a drink, wiped a drop from the corner of his mouth with his thumb, and then smiled. "And that's fucking hot."

My apartment was right next to Poppy Café, so literally just a few feet away from the restaurant. He walked me to the front door, painted green with two trees in planters on either side. It required a code to come and go, and the door weighed at least one hundred pounds and required two hands every time I had to open or close it.

He stopped several feet away from the door like he had no intention of coming inside. "Are you going to keep working at Silencio?"

I needed the job to keep the apartment, so I couldn't just quit the second things got rough. Another aspect of poverty that I didn't enjoy. "It can't get robbed a second time, right?"

"Then I'll see you next time, Fleur." He turned away, the pathway lined with tall bushes in planters.

"Bastien."

He turned back around, his blue eyes bright even from a distance in the dark, the sexiest man ever to have set foot on this road. One look at him showed he was dangerous, but that only made it harder to look away.

"You said there was a story behind my eyes. What's the story behind yours?" Maybe it was just lust that bound me to him, but I didn't want to let him go. Didn't want him to slip away in the night and disappear like a phantom that was never real in the first place. He was a man so hard but with such contradictory beauty, one who could speak the truth with a cruelty that hurt in a way that felt good.