Abigail's POV 

For a moment, none of us moved.

The only sound was the soft tick of the clock on the wall-the same one Luke had insisted we didn't need. Funny how loud it felt now, marking every humiliating second I had to stand there and look at them.

I let out a short, humorless laugh. "What the actual hell?"

Luke flinched. Melanie fumbled to collect her scattered clothes, cheeks flushed with shame. There was fear in her eyes as she scrambled past me-fear that maybe I'd tell her father.

She didn't have to worry. I wasn't a tattletale. And most importantly, I didn't care. She was twenty. A full-grown adult.

If anything, I was just disappointed that the sweet, innocent-looking Melanie had the nerve to shag my boyfriend in my own house.

God. This was embarrassing. I felt like I'd just walked into a Telemundo novela.

"Abigail, I can explain-"

He reached for me, and I stepped back so fast the air between us snapped.

"Don't." My voice came out low, steady. Calm enough to scare even me.

Because inside, everything was vibrating-fury, disgust, disbelief-all tangled in a knot I couldn't undo.

"I can't believe this," I muttered, more to myself than to him.

Luke's mouth opened, but nothing came out. Just a useless stammer, a hand dragging through his hair.

God, he looked pathetic.

The absurdity of it hit me again-all those mornings he'd kissed me goodbye before work, all the late nights he'd blamed on deadlines, and here he was, tripping over his own pants in my living room.

I could have screamed. Thrown something. Broken every glass within reach. But instead, I inhaled slowly, the way I used to when I tried not to cry during fights that weren't worth having.

"Get out," I said finally.

"Abigail-"

"I said get out."

The words didn't rise in volume, but they landed heavy, leaving no space for argument.

He hesitated, then started gathering his things-his shirt, his phone, the jacket I'd bought him last Christmas.

As he stumbled toward the door, I caught my reflection in the window-calm face, dry eyes, steady hands. But underneath that stillness, something fractured. Not cleanly. Not quietly.

The door shut behind them, and the silence that followed was deafening.

I stood there for a long time, staring at the couch-the scene of betrayal still imprinted in the cushions-and for the first time, I realized I wasn't heartbroken.

I was done. 

Just done.

I couldn't sleep here tonight. The rage would choke me before morning.

I reached for my phone and dialed the only number on my emergency contact list.

*****

"Are you sure you don't want to come along?" Trevor asked, grabbing his car keys from the table.

"Yes, Trevor," I said, rolling my eyes. "Now go."

Trevor and I had grown up together. He was like the older brother I never had.

When I called and told him about the Luke-couch situation, he didn't even hesitate to let me crash at his place. He almost canceled his plans, too-something about not wanting me to be alone in my darkest moment.

I told him I was fine. And I was. I wasn't about to cry over that jerk.

"You can order pizza for dinner. The fridge-"

"Don't make me kick you out, Trevor Wilde."

He grinned. "Okay, okay. À plus tard, Abigail."

"À plus tard, Trevor."

It had been our thing since high school-French goodbyes no matter the situation.

Once the door shut behind him, I exhaled and grabbed the pint of ice cream in the fridge. Mint chocolate chip. My favorite. I smiled. Trevor hated it. He said it tasted just like toothpaste. 

I settled onto the couch with the TV remote, scanning for a sappy rom-com to end the evening the way I'd planned.

Then my phone buzzed.I grimaced upon seeing the caller. 

Luke.

He had already sent sixty-two texts. 

I groaned. Couldn't he just let me be?

I stared, my thumb hovering over the screen. I ignored it. Just like I ignored his texts.

I needed a distraction. A big one.

"Fuck it," I muttered, shoving off the couch.

*****

Minutes later, I stood in front of Eclipse, the bar's neon sign glowing hot pink overhead.

Inside, bodies swayed, music throbbed, lights pulsed. I wove through the crowd until I spotted Trevor's booth.

"Looking gorgeous as ever, Abigail," Chase, one of his friends, whistled as I slid in beside them.

"Thanks, Chase," I replied with a faint smile.

Jude and Parker, the other two at the table, introduced themselves, and soon laughter and clinking glasses filled the space.

"I'm glad you came out," Trevor murmured.

"Me too," I said, emptying my glass.

Eclipse was plenty of distraction. And I was here for it.

I scanned the room, gliding over the crowd of people. Some were dancing. Some were laughing at what their partners said. Others were making out in dark corners. Everyone seemed to be having fun.

And then my eyes landed on him. 

A pair of chocolate-brown eyes across the bar.

He was beautiful-the kind of beautiful that hurt to look at. Under the neon glow, his cheekbones looked carved from marble, his lips firm but soft-looking, a faint scar slashing through his left brow.

The faintest smirk curved his lips, arrogance glinting there, like he knew exactly what that look was doing to me.

He had company-some man gesturing wildly beside him-but his eyes had already found me.

And stayed there.

They roamed over me in a way that felt like a touch. My skin tingled under his gaze, every hair on my body standing in awareness.

It was almost impossible to look away. But I did.

How could a stranger have that kind of effect?

Every now and then, I'd glance back-and every time, his eyes were still on me.

Other girls might've found it creepy. Other girls might have even left the bar. Other girls who caught their boyfriends cheating on them just a few hours ago would probably stay away from men-especially like him.

But me? His silent appraisal felt like a touch I wasn't ready for-but craved anyway.

When I looked again, he was gone.

A surprising pang of disappointment bloomed in my chest.

"Are you okay?" Trevor's voice broke through my thoughts.

I turned to him, forcing a smile. "I'm fine. I just need another drink."

Before he could answer, I slipped away toward the bar.

I needed something strong.

"A dirty martini, please," I told the bartender.

"She'll have water," said a deep, rich voice beside me.

I turned-and my breath caught.

Chocolate eyes.

He slid onto the stool next to mine like he belonged there, a slight curve at his lips.

"Miss?" the bartender prompted.

"A dirty martini," I repeated.

"Water," he said again.

The bartender hesitated, eyes darting between us.

"I'm perfectly capable of handling my drinks," I said, facing him squarely.

"I'm sure you are," he murmured, voice smooth as smoke. "But you've had enough for tonight."

God, he sounded just as beautiful as he looked.

I snorted. "Didn't realize you were keeping tabs on me."

"Well," he said, leaning in just enough that his scent-something dark and expensive-brushed against me. "You're not easy to ignore."

The air between us went taut. Heat pooled low in my belly.

"I'll have water," I told the bartender finally.

He smiled. "Good girl."

The words slid through me, all command and promise, and I knew-just knew-I'd found my perfect distraction.

Abigail's POV 

I didn't remember how we made it through the crowd of swaying bodies or how we stumbled into the car. Everything was a blur-laughter, the thump of bass, the weight of his hand at the small of my back.

All I remembered was the room-his hotel room perhaps. Dim lights. His breath. The sound of my heartbeat pulsing in my ears.

Our lips met before the door even closed. It wasn't gentle-it was desperate, like we had just found water in the middle of a desert. The kiss was electric and the only time we broke apart was to tug our clothes away from our bodies.

Every brush of his mouth, every drag of his fingers against my skin made the rest of the world dissolve.

He tasted like whiskey and recklessness. Like a promise I shouldn't believe but wanted to anyway.

The next thing I knew, I was tossed onto the bed with enough force to make the mattress groan. He hovered above, his gaze dark and intent-as if he was memorizing the shape of me, the way I breathed, the sound I made when he looked at me like that.

I licked my lips at the sight. His shirt was off, leaving him in just his pants. He was all flesh and muscles. All danger and sin. So delicious to look at and so irresistible to look away from.

In the low light, I caught the inky tattoo winding down his right arm, muscles flexing as he braced himself on either side of me. He looked wild. Untamed. The kind of man who carried storms in his veins.

I should have stopped him. I should have stopped myself.

But the word should had no power here.

Not tonight.

It didn't matter that I had just lost my job. It didn't matter that I had just caught my boyfriend cheating. Nothing mattered at all.

All I knew was that my body craved him. Deeply and undeniably.

"Are you just going to stand there and look all night or get to action?" I looked up at him, a knowing smirk tugging at my lips-a silent provocation.

"Just drinking you in, that's all." His eyes swept over me, sending a fire down its path.

My face and neck flushed. "I don't think I have that kind of patience."

His grin widened. "I sure would make it worth your while."

He dropped to his knees making my throat tighten, and in one swift motion, he pulled me to the edge of the bed. 

His hands gripped my thighs hard enough to leave bruises, prying them open. He lowered his face between them, close enough that I felt his breath against the thin strip of lace-the only fabric covering me from him.

He inhaled, long and deep, like he wanted to imprint my scent in his lungs. A low growl rumbled out of him, dark and primal. 

I was indeed not a patient woman. I push up on my elbows, scowling down at him. I was already squirming and whimpering, needing him to touch me.

And he did. His mouth dipped but not to where I wanted it. He kissed my lower abdomen. Kissed my inner thighs. His lips were everywhere except where I needed him to be the most. 

With a smooth move, he yanked my panties off, leaving me bare and completely naked before him.

I was already wet and dripping.

"Not such a good girl, are you?" He chuckled, his hot breath fanning my sensitized clit.

"You're going to make me beg for it, aren't-"

The last word never made it past my throat. In its stead was a loud cry of bliss as he latched onto me. I almost bucked off the bed if it wasn't for his strong hands clamping down on my hips.

He sucked hard, unrelenting and ruthless that my head spun. His tongue slid against me in long, unhurried strokes, flicking the hood piercing Luke had convinced me to get two years ago. 

Every sound I made only seemed to fuel him. He groaned into me, devouring me louder, wetter, obscenely relentless. He sucked until my vision blurred, until heat coiled so tight in my belly I thought I would snap apart.

The next thing, he pushed a finger deep inside of me. My eyes almost rolled to the back of my head at the stimulation. My hands reached for anything that could ground me-the sheets, his hair, anything at all.

He pushed in another finger, thrusting and stretching me, leaving me panting and gasping for air. I was nothing but sex and sensation, as he sucked and licked and played me with cruel precision.

"That's it," His voice rolled over me, low and gravel-thick. "Be a good girl and come for me."

That was all it took.

My entire body spasmed as my orgasm ripped through me. Wave after wave, it crashed, leaving me completely spent that all I could do was lie limply underneath him.

His throaty growl of satisfaction vibrated against me. 

"You did so good." He kissed my inner thighs and rose to his feet.

His fingers fumbled through his pockets-probably searching for a condom-and cursed under his breath when he found them empty.

"Be right back," he muttered, disappearing in the direction of the bathroom. "Stay put."

I might have, if a wave of post-orgasm clarity hadn't slammed into me.

What the hell was I doing?

*****

Christian's POV

The sound of gloves meeting flesh echoed in the boxing ring-sharp, rhythmic, grounding. It was supposed to help me focus. It usually did.

Not today.

Sweat slid down my temple, stinging my eyes, but it wasn't what was clouding my vision. I threw a lazy jab, missed the timing completely, and a second later, Miles's glove connected squarely with my jaw. Not hard enough to hurt-just enough to remind me I wasn't here.

"Jesus, Chris." Miles backed off a step, breathing heavy and sounding annoyed. "You're getting your ass handed to you and you're not even trying to stop it."

I shook my head, spitting the taste of metal from my mouth. "I'm fine."

"Yeah? You don't look it."

He was right. I had tried to convince myself that it was nothing. But it was something.

It was her.

I met her at Eclipse two weeks ago. She was clad in that fuckable dress, her lips were painted crimson red and her ginger hair was just begging to be fisted. I had everything planned out and I thought we were both on the same page. Only for me to grab a condom from the bathroom and come back out to find her...gone.

She was just gone, leaving behind only her red lace panties-the same one I've been carrying round in my pocket like a creep.

Every time I thought about her, I'd get rock hard. And guess what? It won't get up even for another woman even if she stripped naked in front of me. It was like my dick had gotten a mind of his own. I didn't even get the chance to bury it in her-

Another hit came, this one to my ribs. I could've dodged. Should've. But I didn't. Air rushed out of me in a grunt. I stumbled backward and doubled over.

"Chris!" Miles barked, dropping his gloves. "You're not even trying."

I exhaled, slow and shaky, gloves hanging uselessly at my sides. My chest heaved more from frustration than exhaustion. "Yeah, I know."

He studied me for a moment, then sighed, tugging off his headgear. "You're thinking about her again."

I didn't answer. I didn't have to. The silence said enough.

I had tried everything to get her out of my mind-boxing, working till late at night, everything. But nothing worked. I could find any other woman to fuck, but like I said, my dick has gotten a mind of its own.

"That's crazy man. You don't even know her name."

Yeah. That was crazy. 

I dragged a hand down my face, forcing myself upright again. "One more round," I muttered.

Miles gave me a skeptical look but lifted his gloves.

Maybe if I got hit hard enough, I'd finally stop seeing her every time I blinked.

Before I could step back into the ring, my phone buzzed on the bench. The sound cut through the air like a blade.

Miles leaned against the ropes, wiping sweat from his face. "Better get that before it drives us both crazy."

I walked over, unwrapping one glove with my teeth. The screen lit up, and my stomach twisted the second I saw the name.

I could've let it go to voicemail like every other time. But I didn't come back from London to keep running from this. I had to face it, no matter how much it burned.

Abigail's POV

If gratitude could be bottled, Trevor deserved a lifetime's supply.

"I still can't believe you did this," I said, clutching my coffee mug like it might stop my heart from sprinting. He'd called me out to my favorite café and dropped the best news I'd heard in weeks.

"You didn't just get me a job, Trevor. You got me the job at the Castillo Group no less. You do realize that's the corporate equivalent of Mount Olympus, right?"

Trevor chuckled, leaning against the counter with that smug grin of his. "You make it sound like I handed you the moon. It's just a job, Abby."

"It's not just a job." I pointed a finger at him. "It's a full-time caregiver position for Alberto Castillo. You know, the patriarch of the entire empire your company practically worships?"

He laughed, but I caught the glint of pride in his eyes. "I work in HR, remember? It wasn't that hard to pull a few strings. They needed someone experienced. You fit perfectly."

I exhaled, warmth blooming in my chest. "I owe you one. No, I owe you ten."

"You owe me nothing." His tone softened. "You just need a fresh start, Abby. And this is it. Don't mess it up."

"I won't." I smiled faintly. "This time, I'll make it work."

He grinned. "That's the spirit. Oh, and... you'll have to report to the Castillo estate every morning. Six a.m. sharp. The old man's schedule is stricter than a Swiss clock."

"Six a.m.?" I groaned. "Guess sleep and I are breaking up again."

*****

Later, after we said goodbye, the city quiet felt louder than usual.

And like clockwork, my mind drifted.

Because somewhere between my footsteps and the hum of traffic, he slipped in again-the man with the dark hair and eyes like melted chocolate.

"Chocolate eyes," I muttered under my breath, instantly regretting it. "God, I need to stop calling him that."

But what else could I call him?

I never got his name.

A stranger who'd looked at me like I was something rare-something worth burning for.

He made me forget everything heavy and broken for one reckless night.

And then I ran.

Like a coward.

"You did the right thing," I whispered to myself. "You're not that kind of girl. You don't do one-night stands. You don't wake up in hotel rooms with strangers."

Still, my chest tightened. I could almost feel his gaze again, tracing heat down my skin.

"Not that it matters," I added with a scoff. "You'll never see him again."

I told myself that three more times on the walk home.

It still didn't stick.

*****

The following Monday, I stood at the gates of the Castillo estate just before sunrise, clutching my tote like it was armor.

The mansion looked like it had been built to intimidate-marble floors, endless windows, and manicured gardens that could have belonged in a museum. I half expected a guard to stop me and say I was in the wrong place.

Instead, a maid led me through a sunlit foyer that smelled faintly of citrus and polished wood. Every step echoed, reminding me that I was very much out of my league.

And yet, somehow, the air felt calm-almost peaceful.

There were flowers on every landing: lilies, orchids, roses. Someone tended to them with care.

My heart softened. If I worked here, I'd definitely volunteer for garden duty.

We stopped at a set of double doors. The maid gave a short nod. "Mr. Castillo will see you now."

Right. Showtime.

I wiped my sweaty palms against my skirt and stepped inside.

Alberto Castillo sat behind a mahogany desk that looked older than my entire apartment complex. His silver hair was perfectly combed, his posture straight despite the cane propped beside him. 

For a man in his seventies, he carried himself like he still ruled empires.

Which, technically, he did.

"Miss Davenport," he greeted, his voice low but slightly rough. "You're early."

I straightened my shoulders. "Yes, sir. I believe punctuality is part of professionalism."

His lips twitched. Almost a smile. "Good answer."

He gestured for me to sit. "I don't need someone hovering every second, Miss Davenport. I may have a medical condition, but I'm not helpless."

"I understand," I said gently. "You just need someone to make sure you stay strong enough to prove that."

That earned me a real smile. "You have a sharp tongue."

I winced. "I prefer to think of it as honesty. Polite honesty."

That made him laugh, a low, surprised sound that softened his features. "Polite honesty," he repeated. "I like that. You'll do just fine."

He went on to outline my duties-monitoring his medication, assisting him with mobility when necessary, and keeping track of his symptoms. It was straightforward enough. But I could tell he didn't like the idea of anyone seeing him as weak.

When the meeting ended, he stood and offered his hand. His grip was firm, if slightly trembling.

"Welcome to the Castillo estate, Miss Davenport."

"Thank you, sir. I'll do my best."

"Martha will show you around," he said, waving me off as I stepped back into the hallway-relieved, intrigued, and strangely protective already.

*****

Martha, the housekeeper, was waiting in the hall, her kind smile grounding me instantly.

"Don't mind the old man," she said as we walked. "He acts like he's carved from stone, but underneath, he's soft as warm butter."

I laughed. "I think I caught a glimpse of that."

"Good. You'll need that insight," she said knowingly. "Come on, I'll show you around."

We passed through the massive kitchen, where staff were prepping dinner. The smell of garlic and butter made my stomach rumble.

"The estate is massive," I said, unable to hide my awe.

Martha's smile was tinged with pride. "It's home. You'll get used to it soon enough."

We entered a bright breakfast room where two girls sat at the long table.

"Abigail, these are Mr. Castillo's grandchildren," Martha announced.

Two teenage girls turned toward me-identical faces, opposite energies.

"Emilia and Esmeralda," Martha said with fondness. "Seventeen, and far too clever for their own good."

Emilia, composed and perfectly poised, offered a polite smile. "Welcome," she said coolly. "I hope you'll help Abuelo stay... comfortable." 

Esmeralda grinned, spinning a pencil between her fingers. "Ignore her. She's just mad Abuelo finally hired someone younger than his doctor. I'm Esme. Love your hair."

"Thank you," I said, laughing softly.

Before I could say more, a small boy burst into the room, his curls bouncing and a toy helicopter in hand.

"Are you the new doctor?" he asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

"Something like that," I smiled. 

He studied me seriously, then nodded. "You look like you plant things."

That startled a laugh out of me. "I do, actually."

"Good." He gave a decisive nod before dashing back down the hall.

"Crew," Martha said fondly. "Mr. Castillo's great-grandson. His mother's away on business."

"He's sweet," I murmured.

"Sweet and unstoppable," Esmeralda said. "Good luck keeping up."

Emilia rolled her eyes. "Come on, Esme. Abuelo's waiting." The twins left in a flurry of whispered bickering that made me smile.

"They'll grow on you," Martha said, leading me on.

"I hope so," I replied. "They seem... spirited."

She chuckled as we continued on the tour.

The hallways were lined with oil portraits-men and women who shared the same sharp and striking features.

Then one painting made me pause.

A younger version of Mr. Castillo stood beside a beautiful woman, his arm around her waist. There was something hauntingly familiar in the way his eyes looked out from the canvas-dark, magnetic, intense.

The same kind of eyes that had once looked at me from across a bar.

I blinked, shaking the thought away. "Weird," I whispered.

"What's that, dear?" Martha asked.

"Nothing," I said quickly. "Just... he looks familiar, that's all."

Martha smiled knowingly. "Mr. Castillo tends to have that effect on people."

"Yeah," I murmured. "I bet he does."

That wasn't it. I was sure. 

But I brushed the thought to the back of my mind. 

*****

By the time I clocked out that evening, the sun was setting behind the estate's fountain. Alberto had taken his medication, eaten dinner, and pretended not to like my company while secretly enjoying our small talk about his younger days in Spain.

As I walked to the giant gates, I felt... lighter.

Like maybe this wasn't just another job. Maybe this was the start of something that might finally, finally go right.

And yet, as I walked through the gates, my mind wandered to the beautiful, dangerous stranger who turned my insides to liquid.

The stranger with the dark eyes and the quiet fire.

The one I'd convinced myself I'd never see again.