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.

The hallway is a bit quiet as I stroll in. Only the muffled hum of the city lights seeps through the tall glass windows, and the low buzz of the elevator dying behind me.

I pause when I get to the suite, my hand hovering over the door handle for a moment, the ghost of a smile tugging at my lips.

She's here. I can feel and smell her, because the air around is already heavy with her scent before I even open the door.

She smells like clean skin and something faintly floral. Soft enough to miss if you aren't close, warm enough to stay long after she's gone.

I push it open slowly, and there she is.

My little firecracker.

Standing by the window, with her back to me, the city glowing behind her like a thousand little fires. Her long, dark hair is loose, falling in waves down her back. Her arms are crossed, but I can see the tremor in her shoulders.

For a second, I just watch her. She's nervous.

Good. She should be.

"I was starting to think you'd chickened out," I murmur knowingly, shutting the door quietly behind me.

She whirls around with wide eyes, her lips parting slightly. Her voice trembles when she speaks, but she tries to steady it. "This.... this was a mistake."

"Yeah?" I take a slow step toward her. "Then why are you here?"

Her throat works as she swallows, her chin lifting in defiance. "I came to tell you to stop. Whatever this is.... it ends now."

I chuckle softly, the sound low and amused. "You've said that before."

"I mean it this time, Slade." her jaw tightens. "This ends now!"

F*ck! How sexy my name sounds on her lips, making me want to do sinful things to her.

"Then walk out." I nod toward the door, keeping my voice calm. "It's right there. I won't stop you."

She blinks, caught off guard. Her gaze flicks to the door, then back to me. Her pulse flutters at her throat, visible even from here.

But she doesn't move.

"I'm serious," I add, stepping closer, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You want this to end? Then walk out."

Her lips part, breath shaky. "You're arrogant."

"Only when I'm right."

A silence stretches between us, heavy, and charged. The the light in the room glows against her face, softening her edges, but her eyes are wild, alive.

God. They were killing me.

"I hate how you talk to me," she whispers.

"No," I say quietly, tilting my head. "You hate that I make you feel things you're not supposed to."

She exhales shakily, taking a step back. "I'm your brother's fiancee, for fuck's sake. This is wrong, Slade."

"Then stop me."

"You think this is a game?" She glares at me, her voice breaking.

"It was," I admit. "Until I saw you again tonight."

The truth slips out before I can stop it. But she doesn't say anything, and neither did I say anything else.

The silence thickens between us, so sharp I can hear her breathing.... uneven, shaky and defiant. I let it stretch a little longer. Then I reach into my pocket, pull out my phone, and dial a number.

"Suite 1107," I say quietly. "Now."

"What are you doing?" She finally says something, a deep frown curving up her brows.

I don't answer, I just stare at her silently.

Seconds after, a tall woman steps inside confidently in nothing but black lingerie and heels that click like a heartbeat on the tiles as she approaches. She doesn't even glance at Meeka. Her eyes find me, and she knows exactly why she's here.

Meeka stiffens, her pulse visible at the base of her throat.

I lean back in the chair, watching her reaction instead of the woman now crossing the room toward me. My lips curve in a wicked smile. Good. Let her see it. Let her see what kind of man she's playing with.

The woman moves closer, her hand sliding up my chest, her perfume heavy in the air.

Meeka's breath catches, barely a sound, but I hear it. Her fingers twist together, knuckles white. Her gaze flicks between us, her jaw tightening as she takes a step back.

"Slade...." she murmurs, her voice trembling somewhere between disbelief and anger.

I tilt my head lazily toward her, meeting her gaze with a smirk that could cut glass.

"What's wrong, Rebel? You said you wanted this to end. I'm just making that easy for you."

The woman shifts closer, the room thick with tension as she kneels before me. She grabs my belt and begins to unbuckle it.

The moment she's done with the belt, she grabs my length and begins to stroke it.

A low sound escapes me.... half groan, half challenge, just to see her flinch. I shouldn't enjoy this, but I do. Too much.

Meeka's eyes darken. She tries to hide it, but she's already losing the battle.

"You're disgusting." Her throat bobs.

I chuckle low. "You didn't think I was that night."

Her lips part, words failing her. I can practically see the storm behind her eyes.... rage, guilt and jealousy, maybe. All tangled up in something she refuses to name.

"Fuck!" I curse as the woman takes me in, sucking me like her life depends on my d*ck.

My lustful eyes stay fixed on Meeka while the woman worships my length. She gags, pulls back slightly then swallows me completely and I groan out again, my eyes never leaving Meeka.

I'm going all the way out for her. I'm allowing this woman touch me in ways she shouldn't, all because of her.

God. I feel like throwing up. Really bad. But I won't. I have to endure this for her.

She said she wants us to end it, then let her prove it by walking out that door. By not getting affected by this. This is her last chance, and if she does walk out, then I'll let her go.... forever.

"Shit!" Another groan escapes my lips and I throw my head slightly backwards, but my eyes are still on her.

She's fuming. I can see the rage in her eyes but she's still holding herself together. Barely.

And just when I think she's winning.

"F*cking stop!" she yells, and the woman freezes instantly.

She walks closer to us and pulls the woman up off me. "Get the hell out!"

The word tears out of her, sharp and loud, echoing against the walls.

A dark smirk tugs at the corner of my lips.