MEEKA'S POV::

I grab the porcelain sink, splashing cold water on my face, but it does nothing to cool the fire racing through my veins.

The restroom feels too small, too bright, and utterly too loud with the pounding of my heart.

I shouldn't be shaken. I was drunk, and it was just one night. One stupid, reckless night of mistake. So I should just calm down, wash my face, go back to the party, and act like the perfect fiancee I've always been.

I nod at myself, smoothing down my dress. I give my lips a little more lipstick, retouch my makeup and breathe out slowly as I stare at myself in the mirror to make sure I'm perfect.

I smile and pick my purse. But just when I'm about to walk out, the door clicks open, and I freeze.

Slade steps in like the restroom belongs to him, shutting the door with a deliberate care. His reflection catches mine in the mirror, that damn smirk carved across his lips, like he's enjoying a private joke only he understands.

"What are you doing here?" My voice comes out sharper than I intend.

"Relax, Rebel." His tone is lazy, indulgent, like he's savoring the moment. He strolls closer, not stopping until the air between us thins, heat sparking in the narrow space. "I just came to check on my soon-to-be sister-in-law."

The words drip with mockery.

I whirl around to face him, heart slamming against my ribs.

"Yeah, go ahead. We had sex, and now you found out I'm your brother's fiancée. Now go ahead and tell everyone." My breath catches as he moves even closer.... way too close that I can feel his heat seeping into me, stealing every ounce of oxygen.

His cologne. God, that strong, masculine and addictive one from last night, wraps around me and I swear, I lose my breath for a moment.

"Why would I do that?" he chuckles, the sound low and dangerous, vibrating down my spine. Chills break out across my skin, except they're not the kind that come from fear.

"You... you aren't going to say anything?" The question sounds childish and pathetic, even to my own ears, but it tumbles out before I can stop it.

He leans in, grazing his lips on my ear as he whispers, "Only boys fuck and go around announcing it."

My knees nearly buckle at his words. Damn this man!

I push at his chest, but he doesn't budge even a little. His eyes glitter with mischief, with possession, with the memory of last night burned into both of us.

"You're insane," I breathe, trying to edge around him.

"Maybe," he says, not bothering to block me, because he knows knows he already has me cornered. "But I'm not the one choking on champagne at the sight of me."

I glare at him, narrowing my eyes as something suspicious hits me suddenly.

"You knew I was your brother's fiancee all along, didn't you?"

God. Why have I decided to sound so stupid right now?

"If I knew you were, Baby Girl...." Slade's smirk widens, intentional and slow, "I'd have fucked you harder. Made sure your legs were too sore and weak to even walk into this little engagement party of yours."

I choke on nothing but air, heat rushing up my neck as the image burns itself into my mind. God. Why am I picturing it? Why does my pulse harmer like this?

Jesus, help me. I'm losing my damn mind.

Slade leans back, his eyes dragging down my body like he owns it, as he continues. "But then again..." his chuckle vibrates low in his chest, "...it isn't too late."

My breathe shakes, and my legs nearly give way, almost tripping. But he catches and steadies me, smirking.

What the hell does be mean by that?

But before I can ponder too much on that, a knock rattles the door.

"Meeka? Are you okay in there?" Nathaniel's voice filters through, muffled but clear.

My heart leaps to my throat. I glance at Slade in panic, but he only grins wider, stepping back toward the other exit door, the one leading to God knows where.

I didn't even know there was another exit door until now.

"See you around, Rebel," he drawls, disappearing like smoke before I can catch my breath.

I'm left trembling against the sink, my pulse racing, the echo of his laughter curling around me long after he's gone.

I splash more water on my face, steadying myself. When I finally step out, Nathaniel is waiting. Concern shadows his eyes as he cups my elbow.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

I force a smile, my throat dry. "Yeah. I just needed a long moment in there."

He brushes his thump across my cheek, and I almost flinch at how rough that feels on my skin.

His touch has never been tender in me. Yes, I'm talking about the man I've been in love with for years. Nathaniel.

And it feels worse today. It feels nothing like his brother's....

The thought slams into me, vile and intoxicating all at once. And I almost gasped out, horrified at myself.

I'm going crazy! I think I need to see my therapist first thing tomorrow morning.

**

MEEKA'S POV::

"Ugh! Stop ringing already!" I groan, tugging a strand of hair out of my mouth. My head is pounding, and my body's heavy from last night's chaos, and that stupid alarm us making it worse.

It's ringing again. I swear, I'm this close to grabbing and flinging it across the room, until something clicks in my head, and I realize It's morning.

I jolt upright, snatch my phone, and my eyes nearly pop out when I see the time. "Holy crap! I'm late for work."

I bolt into the bathroom, and in what feels lile seconds, I'm out again, probably still covered in half the soap, but who cares right now? I'm freaking late.

A minute later, I'm flying down the stairs with my hair in a tangled mess, my bag is half-open, and I'm juggling my phone and laptop like a lunatic. I'm pretty sure I'm wearing mismatched shoes, but honestly... priorities.

"Why the hell didn't you wake me up, Jeremy?" I yell, like It's somehow his fault I forgot what day it is.

"I didn't know I was your P.A now," Jeremy shots back dryly.

God, I forgot how annoying he is.

"Sit down and eat before leaving. I made you breakfast," he says, way too cheerfully, with that smile I don't trust.

I eye the scrambled eggs suspiciously, then pick up a fork. My heart's already pounding... this feels like a death sentence.

But maybe he's improved?

Wrong. If anything, Jeremy's cooking got worse. The second it touches my tongue, I spit it right out.

Pepper, salt, and every spice in the world is inside the egg. Jesus, my tongue is on fire.

"Thanks for the breakfast, Jeremy. And thanks for killing my taste buds." I say between burns, taking a gulp of water down my throat, hoping it helps. But it doesn't.

Before Jeremy can reply, I'm out of the house, trying to fan my tongue with my already full hands.

Ugh! Can my day get any worse?

I reach my car, toss everything inside, and slide into the driver's seat, heaving a deep sigh before pushing the car keys into the hole.

But just as I'm about to start the engine, my phone rings, and it's Nathaniel.

I frown at his name that's flashing on the screen.

Why is Nathaniel calling me this early?

This is weird. He's not exactly a morning person, and he never even calls this early.

I sigh and swipe to answer. "Hello?"

"Meeka, dear."

It's not Nathaniel's voice. It's his mother's. Vanessa DeWitt.

Why is Vanessa calling me with Nathaniel's phone?

"Mrs. DeWitt? Good morning. Is everything okay?"

"Meeka, darling, I need you to come over right now." her tone is clipped and urgent, like she's holding back panic.

My pulse kicks up instantly. "What? Why? Did something happen?"

There's a pause at her end. I can hear faint murmuring in the background, maybe the staff. And then, her voice drops lower. "Just come, dear. It's very urgent."

"Is is Nathaniel? Is he okay?" My voice is breaking in complete panic.

What the hell is going on?

"Just come fast!" Vanessa repeats in a sharper tone, and then she hangs up before I can ask anything else.

The line goes dead.

I stare at my phone, cold dread crawling through my veins. My stomach twists as worst-case scenarios flood in.

Is he sick? Hurt? Did something happen after last night's party?

God, what if....

MEEKA'S POV::

"Jesus," I whisper, tossing my phone onto the passenger seat and starting the car. "Please don't let it be serious."

I speed through the streets, nerves unraveling with every red light.

By the time I pull up to the DeWitt mansion, my chest feels tight. The huge black gates swing open like a mouth ready to swallow me whole.

The moment I step out of the car, Vanessa is already waiting on the porch, her hands wringing together.

"Vanessa," I start, breathless. "What happened? Where's Nathaniel?"

She exhales deeply, pressing a hand on her chest. "Oh, Meeka. Thank heavens you're here."

I grab my bag tighter. "What's going on? Is he-"

"He's not feeling well," she cuts in solemnly.

My heart plummets. "Not feeling well? How bad is it? Did he faint? Should we call a doctor -"

"He's in bed," she says dramatically, lowering her voice like she's delivering tragic news. "And he's refusing to eat."

I blink. "What?"

"He says he won't eat unless it's your chicken soup," she says with motherly conviction, as if that explains everything.

I just.... stare, trying to understand something.

"Chicken soup?" I repeat, making sure I heard that right.

She nods gravely, completely serious. "Yes, dear. He says only yours makes him feel better. I tried to have the chef prepare it, but he refused to even touch it.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out for a full five seconds.

That's it? Like, that's the emergency?

I left work.... the one I'm already late for, almost got a speeding ticket.... all for a soup? A fucking chicken soup?

I press my fingers or my forehead, shaking my head in frustration.

"Mrs. DeWitt, could he just manage the soup from the chefs? I'll make another one when I return. I'm already late for work-"

"Oh, darling, this isn't about work," she cuts in quickly, with that motherly tone that sounds sweet but isn't really a request. "He hasn't eaten a thing since last night. You know how stubborn he gets. My poor boy is suffering. Please, go make it for him. Just be fast and finish up so you can go."

I just stand there, speechless. I don't know if I should laugh or cry. But one thing I'm very sure of, is that I might murder someone right now.

~~

Thankfully, in just a few minutes, I'm done with the soup.

However, I'm not happy. But still, I can't help the tiny tug of guilt that follows. Nathaniel is sick, and I'm his fiancée.

This is my duty, right?

Right.

I try to swallow the frustration building in my chest as I carry the tray upstairs, balancing it carefully so it doesn't spill. My heart beats a little faster as I push his door, his scent welcoming me first.

He's sitting up in bed, scrolling lazily on his phone. He looks fine, perfectly so. Except for the faint furrow between his brows that disappears the second he sees me.

"Here she comes," he says, his lips curling into that slow smile I know too well. "You actually came."

"Of course I did." I manage a small smile, setting the tray on his bedside table. "Your Mom said you weren't feeling well."

He shrugs lightly, leaning back against the headboard. "Just a little fever. Nothing serious."

I sit at the edge of the bed, instinctively reaching out to touch his forehead. His skin feels warm, not dangerously so, but enough to make me frown.

"You should've called the doctor." I say with concern.

He catches my wrist before I can pull away. "I don't need a doctor, Meeka. I just needed you."

My breath hitches a little, his words hitting that soft spot inside me... the part that still wants to believe he means them.

But something in his tone feels off, like he knows exactly what he's doing.

"You should eat," I say quietly, trying to keep my voice steady as I reach for the soup bowl. "It's still warm.

He obeys, taking the spoon from my hand and tasting it. Then he smiles faintly, almost boyish for once.

"It's nice as always. You should go now, I'm sure you're late for work already."

Holy crap! Did he just say that? Of course I'm late. Like, a full hour late already.

But I smile and sit beside him again. "Don't worry. I already called to let them know I'd be late."

He smiles back and nods, that same smooth charm returning.

When he's done, I help clear the tray, trying to ignore the strange weight in my chest. His eyes follow me as I move, the way they always do possessively, like I belong to him.

"Thank you," he says softly when I reach the door. "You make everything better."

I pause for a second, forcing a small smile. "Just rest, okay? I'll check on you later."

He nods, eyes half-lidded. "See you later, Meeka."

I nod too and slip out of the room.

~~**

I return home in the evening, completely exhausted, my feet aching and my thoughts scattered. The day has been long, and I'm still irritated about how it started, though I try not to dwell on it.

I drop my bag on the couch, sigh and head to the kitchen for water.

Just as I grab a bottle from the fridge, the doorbell rings.

At first, I ignore it. Maybe it's the neighbors door. Definitely not mine.

But it rings again. One long, deliberate chime that makes me frown.

I walk to the door, open it slowly.... and stop, my frown deepening.

There's a small, elegant black box sitting on my welcome mat, but no one's in sight.

My name glitters on top in silver handwriting, which makes my stomach twist as I already know this isn't from Nathaniel. But who?

I pick it up, heart hammering as I proceed to open it. Inside the box is a single piece of red lacey.... pantie.

"What the hell?" my eyes pop out with a confused frown.

And beneath it is a single note that reads....

* You forgot this the other night, Little Rebel. I thought you might want it back.

P.S. Meet me at The Ivy tonight. 9PM. Don't keep me waiting. *

My entire body goes still, realization hitting my brain.

It's Slade.

Jesus! And that's my pantie!

I press my hand to my mouth, my breath stuttering. I can't believe I forgot them that night, and I'm just realizing it now.

My cheeks burn with embarrassment as I stare at the box again, then around the stairs, before quickly dashing inside.

How the hell does he know my home?

"Meet him at The Ivy at nine? Pfft!" I scoff, rolling my eyes. "Who does he think he is to give me orders?"

He's obviously crazy.

But apparently, I'm the crazier one.

Because tell me why the time is 8:45p.m, and I'm all dressed up already, ready to go meet him at The Ivy?

"This is insane," I mutter under my breath, checking myself in the mirror for what has to be the tenth time.

My reflection glares back at me like she doesn't even recognize herself anymore. My hair's down, lips glossed, and my heart doing this ridiculous stutter thing that refuses to calm.

Wait. Why am I prepping myself like I'm going to a beauty pageant?

Well, at least I'm not going for him.

I'm going to him to stop. To end whatever twisted game he's playing.

That's all.

But my hands are shaking as I grab my purse. My pulse doesn't lie.

I lock the door behind me and step into the cool night air. It bites against my skin, grounding me.

* You forgot this the other night, Little Rebel. *

God, even the way he writes makes me want to scream.

Not in the way you think though. No. It's in that naughty, completely inappropriate kind of way I'm talking about.

Crap!

I didn't say that. That was my crazy mind talking.

By the time I reach The Ivy, my stomach is a knot. The place looks exactly like the kind of trouble he'd belong to. Dimly lit with velvet booths, the music is soft enough to hide secrets. A place where the rich misbehave unseen.

I almost turn around.

I said 'almost.‹ because obviously my brain is now acting without my permission.

My breath shakes a little when I see him.

He's sitting in a corner booth like he owns the night, wearing a black shirt, the sleeves rolled up, one hand lazily holding a glass of whiskey.

His head tilts slightly when he spots me, that knowing smirk spreading across his lips.

My heart drops straight to my stomach.

"I knew you'd come," he murmurs when I reach the table, his voice low, smooth and utterly dangerous.

"I came to tell you this has to stop," I say, pointblank, trying to sound firm even though my pulse betray me."

He chuckles under his breath, the sound dark enough to curl through me.

"You came because you missed me.

"No, I didn't." The lie tastes bitter. "Whatever this is, it ends now."

He leans in, placing his elbows on the table as his eyes lock on mine. Dark colliding with blue-green, definitely a catastrophic combo.

"You sure about that, Rebel?"

The way he says that Rebel makes my skin tingle, and I hate it. The air between us is heavy, charged. I hate that my body remembers him more clearly than my mind wants to.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he pulls something from his pocket and sets it on the table.

It's a keyboard.

"Suite 1107," he says, sliding it toward me slowly. "You have ten seconds to walk away."

I stare at it, my pulse roaring in my ears. My throat's dry, and my fingers are twitching.

Slade leans back, watching me in a controlled manner that says he's completely in charge.

"Ten," he starts counting before I know it.

My heart pounds.

"Nine... eight..."

I should leave. God, I should fucking leave this place.

"Seven... six..."

My hand trembles.

"Five..."

The world feels smaller, hotter, like every breath burns.

"Four... three..."

I push back from the booth, my legs moving before my brain can catch up.

I'm walking away. Yes! I'm fucking walking away from...

Wait. Am I really? Because I don't think I'm moving.

MEEKA'S POV::

I stand there, frozen. The world around me feels blurred. Everything happening in this place, all fading behind the thud of my heartbeat.

He's not even looking at me now. Just sitting there, swirling his whiskey like he didn't just detonate a bomb in my chest.

"Two..." he murmurs, voice calm, lazy, like he's not counting down to my total undoing.

"One."

My throat's tight. I can't tell if I'm shaking from anger or anticipation. Probably both.

Then he leans back, his smirk widening just slightly. "Time's up."

That should be my cue to leave.

To grab my dignity, my bag, and walk out of this damn place like a sane person.

But my feet?

Yeah. They have other plans.

However, I manage to find myself moving them, finally making it to the door.

Almost.

The night air hits me as I step outside, cool against my flushed skin. I take one deep breath, then another, trying to convince myself this is over. That I'm not going to do something stupid.

Unfortunately, I've already done something stupid, because I can feel it.... the weight of that hotel key card in my pocket.

Wait. What the hell.....

When did I even pick it up?

My fingers curl around it, and my stomach twists.

"God, what's wrong with me?" I whisper to no one, tilting my head back, staring at the city lights.

I could go home. Forget this ever happened. Pretend he doesn't make me feel things I have no business feeling.

But instead, I find myself walking. One step, then another, toward the hotel room.

Because apparently, I've lost my goddamn mind.

SLADE'S POV::

A smirk curls at the corner of my lips as I watch her sashay toward the suite, hips swaying, and head high, pretending she isn't trembling inside.

Hell. She shouldn't have come, but she has.

And now, every dangerous thought crawling through my mind demands to be unleashed.

She said she only came to tell me to stop.... to end whatever this is.

But I know she's lying. And she knows that I know she's lying.

I can see it in her eyes. That flicker of hesitation, that pulse in her throat giving her away.

I've been fighting myself to stop whatever this is.... whatever she started.

But how can I, when she's my brother's fiancée?

Do you have any idea how intriguing that makes this?

Still, there's a reason I asked her to meet me tonight.

One: I planned to let go if she refused to show up. If she stayed away, I would've walked away too. Maybe.

But she didn't. She came. She came, looking like sin in heels, spitting fire like she didn't crave the same heat I do.

Two: I dropped the key card, gave her one last chance to walk away. And she failed that too.

We've only known each other for two days, but she always fails when it comes to me.

So you see? I'm trying to be the good guy I've never been. But she's walking straight to me willingly, like a sacrificial lamb.

I smirk, finishing my drink, then slide out of the booth. My steps are slow and deliberate, each one echoing with the kind of hunger I've tried to bury.

And as I head down the corridor toward Suite 1107, my pulse drums in rhythm with every wicked thought I've ever had about her.

Because if she's inside that room.... then she's already mine, and there's no going back.