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.

Christian's POV

The Castillo estate looked exactly as I remembered it. Too big, too bright and too full of ghosts.

Eden. 

That was what my grandfather liked to call it, as if giving it a biblical name made it less suffocating. 

The stone walls still gleamed like money. The manicured lawns stretched endlessly under the morning sun. And the gates-those damn gates-swung open as if they'd been waiting for me to finally stop running.

I almost didn't come back.

If it hadn't been for the phone call-Martha's voice trembling as she told me Abuelo had been unwell-I would still be in Camden, pretending London was a lifetime ago and not just a plane ride away.

But here I was.

It had been years, and yet standing here again felt like no time had passed at all. Same house. Same air. Same ghosts.

The tires crunched against the gravel as I pulled up to the front steps. I sat for a long moment, hands locked around the steering wheel, staring at the house that had been both home and hell.

London had taught me composure-how to wear calm like armor-but the air here was heavier. It pressed on my chest like memory.

By the time I stepped out of the car, my mask was already in place. The cold, composed Castillo everyone expected.

The scent hit first-pine, polish, and something faintly floral. My mother's scent.

For a split second, the years fell away: her laughter in the hallway, sunlight on her hair, then blood-and then nothing. I shoved the memory back where it belonged. Some wounds don't heal; you just learned to walk without touching them.

The front doors swung open.

Alberto Castillo, silver hair perfectly combed, cane in hand, stood tall and proud despite the years.

"Christian," he said, his voice gravelly but warm. "Mi niño. You're finally home."

The old man didn't wait for me to move. He pulled me into an embrace. For a heartbeat, I froze, then let him. His cologne-cedarwood and time-brought a sting to my chest.

"Abuelo," I said softly, stepping back before the moment lingered too long. "You look good."

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "Don't lie to an old man. London's made you taller... and colder, I think."

"Occupational hazard," I said with a half-smile.

"Still that mouth," he said with affection. "Come. Everyone's waiting. They'll be happy to see you."

The foyer was alive with sound-voices, laughter, the shuffle of footsteps on marble. The house felt... almost alive.

Before I could fully take it in, a blur of blonde hair launched at me.

"Christian!"

Lola's arms wrapped around my neck, her laughter as bright as I remembered.

"It's been too long," she said, squeezing tight.

I chuckled, hugging her back. "You haven't changed a bit, Lola."

She grinned. "Please, I've had a kid. That alone added five years to my soul."

I looked down to find a little boy clinging shyly to her leg. "And you must be Crew."

He peeked up with wide eyes. "Mama says you live far away."

"I did," I said, crouching. "But I came back. And I might've brought presents."

His face lit up. "Really?"

"Maybe," I teased, straightening. "Depends if you're nice to me."

Lola laughed. "Don't you dare spoil him. He already runs this house."

"Then he's definitely a Castillo," I said, earning a mock glare from her.

"Still a charmer," she muttered.

From the staircase, a familiar voice called down, syrup-sweet and edged with steel.

"Well, look who finally remembered he has a family."

Isabella, the eldest. She looked perfect, polished to the point of cruelty, her diamond earrings catching the light like tiny daggers.

"Still charming as ever, Isa," I said evenly.

Her lips curved, not quite a smile. "We all have our roles."

Behind her came Xavier, hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face, followed by Carmen, glued to her tablet, her expression one of polite impatience-the kind that came from a full inbox. The twins, Esmeralda and Emilia, trailed close behind, whispering to each other and grinning when they saw me.

Xavier clasped my shoulder. "Welcome back, hermano. London treating you well?"

"As well as it could," I said.

Carmen gave me a polite nod before returning to her screen. "I assume you're here for good this time?"

I shrugged. "We'll see."

The twins reached me next, all smiles and warmth.

"Christian!" Esmeralda said. "You look serious as always."

"Still too quiet," Emilia added.

"Someone has to balance the noise in this family," I replied, and they both laughed.

The tension that had been creeping up eased. For all our differences, this house still knew how to feel like home.

And then came a voice I hadn't heard in years but could have recognized anywhere.

"Oh, sweet heavens, is that my Chris?"

Martha.

She bustled in, apron dusted with flour, cheeks flushed, eyes gleaming with joy. She didn't hesitate-she cupped my face between her palms, as if I were still that boy sneaking cookies from her kitchen.

"Still too thin," she scolded. "Do they not feed you in London?"

A reluctant laugh escaped me. "Hello, Martha."

"Oh, don't you 'hello' me. You've been gone far too long. Sit. I'll make you something proper-arroz con pollo, just like your mother used to."

Her words landed softly but deep, tugging at something raw. And for a second, I couldn't speak.

"Thank you," I managed.

"Don't thank me yet," she said, bustling off. "You're eating seconds."

The laughter resumed once she disappeared. Crew was driving toy cars across the hallway floor, the twins cheering him on. Isabella was talking business with Xavier. Lola was telling Abuelo about Crew's new obsession with dinosaurs.

And for a rare moment, I let myself breathe.

It wasn't perfect, but it was real.

The chandelier glimmered above, light bouncing off marble and memory.

And then, just as suddenly, my thoughts wandered back to Eclipse.

Back to the woman with the ginger hair and the sharp green eyes. The one who moaned into my mouth and then disappeared like a ghost before I could even get her name.

A nameless stranger who had no right living rent-free in my head.

I'd been with more women than I could count. Models, heiresses, women who wanted the Castillo name for what it could give them. None had ever left me looking for someone in every crowd. None had ever made me want to remember the sound of their laugh.

But she had.

And the worst part? I had a feeling I hadn't seen the last of her.

"Christian?" Abuelo's voice pulled me back. "You were a million miles away, hijo."

"Just jet lag," I said lightly.

He studied me with that same sharp gaze that had always seen through me. "You've always been a terrible liar."

Before I could reply, footsteps sounded in the hall.

A woman stepped into the doorway. Ginger hair. Green eyes.

The world tilted.

Abuelo smiled. "Ah, good. Christian, meet Abigail Davenport-my new caregiver."

And just like that, the ghost from Eclipse had a name.