~ IVANOV ~

I was in the middle of a small meeting with a client at the VIP when three women walked in, their presence slicing through the smoke-filled room like a knife.

They slid into the table on my left. My eyes caught them immediately, but it was the one in the middle-the red-haired beauty from the party-that froze me in my tracks. Druscilla Hayes.

My enemy's fiancée.

Fate really had a wicked sense of humor.

Believe me or not, I didn't follow her here. I came on my own, wrapped up in the grind with a client who had paid a fortune for me to help him hack Interpol's logs. But apparently, I didn't need to stalk tonight. She had delivered herself straight into my line of sight.

I couldn't hear a single word my client was saying. My gaze was glued to her-Druscilla, moving with a reckless grace, taking shots, swaying her body as though she owned the world. She had no idea. She had no idea how hot she looked. No idea someone was watching her with hunger that bordered on obsession.

I had heard the stories about her, about the Hayes family-strict, disciplined, holier-than-thou types. And here she was, in a place that went against everything she had been raised to believe in. It was thrilling.

No, more than thrilling. Electrifying.

My eyes roamed over her body. She looked stunning in that dress, but I could tell she was uncomfortable. A tight corset, maybe, or just the eyes of a room full of strangers. And yet, every move she made had me leaning closer, wanting more.

The brunette with her got up and walked to the stage, announcing something. And that's when I got a proper look at the blonde sitting next to her, laughing and smiling-the same blonde Isaac Kaene had been parading around.

So she was Druscilla's friend? I couldn't believe it.

Isaac. What a cheap, lying bastard. Two friends, a proposal to one, a secret fling with the other. He was a real piece of work.

I had planned to ruin Druscilla's relationship with him eventually, but until now, I'd done nothing. Tonight, though, the temptation to press that button was irresistible. He didn't deserve her. Not in the slightest.

I scrolled through my phone, ignoring my client completely, searching for every scrap of information on Druscilla Hayes.

Then I saw it. Tonight was her birthday.

"You haven't been listening to me?" Vincent frowned, his voice cutting through my haze.

I tore my gaze away from the screen to meet his. Vincent had been a client for five years-a politician with a cold face and an even colder heart, steeped in corruption and money laundering.

"Let's talk business tomorrow," I said casually, pulling out a cigarette.

"Come on, Ivan. That's bullshit," he protested, frustration etched into his sharp features.

I lit the cigarette, ignoring him.

"Tomorrow, Vincent."

He shook his head, scowling, and walked away, muttering under his breath. I didn't care. He'd be back. He always came back. Tonight, my attention belonged to one thing: Druscilla Hayes.

I called my assistant immediately.

"Pedro," I said, voice clipped. "Get a beautiful cake in five minutes and deliver it to this location."

"Yes, boss," Pedro replied without hesitation.

"One more thing," I added. "Open my drawer and put that surprise in the cake. I'll text you what to write on it."

"Understood. On it immediately," he said.

Five minutes later, my men delivered the cake. I watched from a distance as Druscilla's face lit up. That smile... hell, it made my chest tighten. Contagious, radiant, and entirely hers.

I bet she thought it was from Isaac.

They sang, cut the cake. Her smile faded. Slowly, the glow vanished, replaced by a frown when she saw my gift. Her hands trembled as she held the picture inside.

A little thrill twisted in my chest. She needed to know the truth. That cheating, worthless bastard didn't deserve her. I'd planted the seed; now I'd wait for it to grow.

Her eyes glistened, a tremble in her lips, as though tears might fall any second.

But then chaos erupted. Shots rang out. People screamed and scattered, diving for cover.

I looked around, instinct kicking in. The shooters weren't mine. They were small-time gangs with old grudges.

I rose, gun pinned to my belt. My eyes searched for her. She wasn't on the stage anymore. My heart skipped. I needed her safe.

I found her crouched under a table, phone in hand, fear written all over her face. Not dumb, that one. But not safe either.

I lifted her into my arms. The look of terror in her eyes only tightened my grip. Out we went, shielded by my body, moving through the chaos.

Outside, Isaac had arrived-but not for her. For the blonde. Perfect.

My mind raced. My safe nest. That's where she belonged.

So here we were, in my suite. I couldn't take my eyes off her. My hands itched to explore every inch of her body. I was supposed to be the predator, seducing her, showing her what a man like me could do. But it wasn't me controlling this anymore.

"Touch me," she whispered, her voice fragile and raw. Like an angel in need.

Her eyes begged.

I obeyed. My fingers traced over her thigh, feeling the delicate lace beneath my touch.

"Oh God..." she moaned.

I didn't stop. I pushed further, sliding a finger inside her. She was drenched, every movement begging for more.

Her shiver was delicious. "Oh... yes... uhm... you..."

I smiled, amused and aroused. Her face, the way she melted under my touch, was intoxicating.

I thumbed her clit, keeping a steady rhythm. Her moans grew, filling the room with the sound of want and surrender.

Just as she teetered on the edge, I pulled back. Her eyes opened, fluttering, wide and desperate.

"What?" she asked, voice shaking.

"What do you want, Doll?" I murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I don't want you to stop," she whispered, voice trembling.

"Unfortunately, Doll... this is all I can do... unless you want me to fuck you," I said, letting a smirk tug at my lips.

"Fuck me... please," she whimpered.

I slid her lace panties down and tucked them into my pocket. She wrapped her legs around me as I carried her to my king-sized bed.

I lowered her gently, pressing my weight against her, her legs splayed, inviting me. My cock hardened at the sight, the wet heat that called to me.

I wanted her. All of her. I wanted to mark her, consume her, erase Isaac from her life entirely.

"Damn, you look so... delicious," I groaned. My voice low, hoarse with need.

She blushed, looked away shyly. I lowered myself, teasing, not going further.

"What?" she lifted her gaze, needy. "Fuck me already."

"I want to fuck you when you're sober," I said, voice rough with want, the tension between us crackling like electricity.

~ DRUSCILLA ~

I cannot believe I am here.

Laid out on another man's bed, my body open in ways it has never been before, my mind scattered, my senses wrecked beyond repair.

His fingers feel like sin given shape. Every touch sends sparks racing through me, sharp and sweet all at once. My body reacts before my conscience can catch up, arching, trembling, betraying me in ways I did not know were possible.

The sounds slipping from my lips do not even sound like they belong to me. Soft, broken, needy. I barely recognize myself.

God.

Mum must never see me like this. Never know that her well raised daughter is stretched out on a stranger's bed, breathing like this, feeling like this.

Shame burns hot in my chest, but it is tangled tightly with something far more dangerous.

How can I be engaged to one man and wrapped up in another?

A stranger.

A terrifying one.

A man with a dangerously handsome face and eyes that feel like they are stripping me bare, peeling through flesh and bone until they touch something raw and exposed inside me.

He does not even have to try. My body reacts to him as if it has been waiting all its life.

What kind of man does that?

The sensation builds until it is almost unbearable. My thoughts blur. My head spins. I have never felt so aware of myself, of every nerve, every breath, every desperate want.

I had no idea I could feel this way. No idea my body could respond like this. I thought innocence was protection. I thought restraint was strength.

What in the world is this man?

His fingers alone undo me, scramble my senses until even the weight of the diamond on my finger disappears from my awareness. That ring, that promise, that life waiting for me somewhere far away.

What if he goes further?

The thought slams into me so hard I almost gasp.

If he does, then I will...

Oh God.

I catch myself, the shame crashing down all at once.

Oh, Druscilla.

You are shameless.

Dirty.

I scold myself silently, my chest rising and falling too fast.

And yet.

I want him.

I want him so badly it frightens me.

He is heat where my life has always been cold. Fire where everything has been planned, measured, expected. With him, nothing feels controlled. Nothing feels safe.

My back presses into the mattress, and the feeling of his bed beneath me sends another wave of sensation through my body. The sheets smell faintly of him. Clean. Dark. Masculine.

He compliments my pink fold, and heat rushes straight to my face. My cheeks burn, and I know he sees it. I know he enjoys it.

I close my eyes, bracing myself, expecting him to finally cross that invisible line.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he looks at me for a long moment, something unreadable passing through his eyes, and then he speaks.

"I can't."

I blink, confusion snapping through me. "What do you mean?" I ask, a crease forming between my brows.

"You're quite drunk," he says calmly, his voice far too steady for the storm he has stirred inside me.

I stare at him.

Someone please pinch me.

What does a man like this know about restraint? About softness?

"What is this about?" I snap, drawing my legs together instinctively, shielding myself. Heat flares, sharp and angry now. Did he really touch me like that, awaken something reckless and wild in me, only to stop now?

Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.

"It's part of my principle," he says casually, like he isn't standing in the middle of my undoing. "I don't sleep with drunk women. Besides, I want you sober enough to remember everything. I want you to remember every moment. Every sound you make."

The words hit me harder than any touch.

Heat crawls up my neck, my face burning again.

"I'm not drunk," I mutter stubbornly.

He smiles, slow and knowing. "You wouldn't have let me touch you the way I did if you weren't. You wouldn't be in my bed if alcohol wasn't blurring your judgment."

He steps back and gestures to my hand.

"You're engaged."

Obviously.

I roll my eyes, but the reminder lands heavier than I expect.

Why am I only remembering now?

Shame wraps around me like a thick garment, heavy and suffocating. This moment, this weakness, tells me something I am not ready to face.

I am not a good girl.

I have been pretending. Dressing myself in virtue while something darker lurks underneath. A wolf in borrowed wool.

And tonight, I did not even bother with the disguise.

I smooth my skirt down and turn onto my side, putting my back to him.

He folds his arms, watching me like I am some kind of performance. Like an actress on stage, baring parts of herself she did not know were visible.

"You don't have to feel..." he begins.

"I want to go home," I cut in, climbing off the bed.

"It's late," he says.

"I don't care."

"You can stay till morning."

He moves away and removes his trousers, standing there in nothing but a dark brief. My eyes betray me, roaming before my mind can stop them. His legs are strong, sculpted, powerful.

Wait.

Is he changing his mind?

Does he want to continue?

"It's not what you're thinking," he says with a smirk that tells me he knows exactly what I was thinking. "I'm going to shower. Do you want to eat something?"

Embarrassment floods me, thick and suffocating.

I shoot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. "God, I hate you."

He grins, that infuriating dimple appearing. "You're hungry. But you can't eat me."

"Proud idiot," I mutter.

"Stop being so hard on yourself, doll," he says as he punches numbers into the intercom, ordering pasta, grilled chicken, and apple juice.

My stomach tightens.

Those are my favorites.

I lick my lips without thinking, anticipation making my mouth water.

Thankfully, his back is turned.

When he faces me again, I straighten instantly.

"Room service will be here soon."

I lift my chin, stubborn and defensive.

He studies me for a moment. Something flickers in his eyes. Guilt. Sadness. Something I refuse to care about.

I cross my arms and plant my feet.

Eventually, he turns and walks into the glass bathroom.

I step back and bump into the bed just as he slips out of the last piece of clothing and turns on the shower.

My breath catches.

Holy shit.

I have never seen a man like that before.

His cock was long, hard and thick.

I closed my eyes, my tongue slowly swiped on my lips as I imagined that thing going inside me. In and out.

I swallow hard, clasping my hands together and squeezing my eyes shut.

"Hail Mary, mother of Jesus Christ, please pray for me," I whisper. "I have sinned against God. I have sinned with my eyes. Please don't send me to hell. Amen."

When I open my eyes, I deliberately face the door. The temptation is too strong.

A knock sounds ten minutes later.

Room service.

I jump up like a child on Christmas morning and open the door.

The trolley rolls in, the scent filling the room instantly.

"Your dinner, ma," the attendant says kindly.

"Thank you."

I close the door quickly after he leaves. I've seen too many movies. Too many stories where the wrong person walks in at the wrong time and shoot the lady with the wrong man.

Focus on your food, Druscilla.

I eat hungrily, savoring every bite.

By the time I finish, he steps out of the bathroom, dressed in a robe, his hair damp. He notices the empty plate and smiles.

He sits, opens his laptop, focused now on something else entirely.

I watch his broad back until the room grows quiet and sleep pulls me under.

~DRUSCILLA~

"Yes... there... oh... my... fuck... me!" I moan, gripping the sheets as that handsome devil digs into me. My body presses against his shoulder, moving in a rhythm so raw, so animal, the bed creaks beneath us.

I feel the edge of my orgasm, teasing me, my body trembling with it. And then... a voice.

"Hey... doll, it's morning."

My eyelids flutter open. He's there-handsome, infuriating, impossibly smug-leaning over me like I'm some rare artifact.

"Oh my God! Oh my God!" I jerk upright, heart hammering against my ribcage

.

Shit. It's just a dream.

I was having sex with handsome devil in my dream. 

Did I actually moan out loud? Did he hear me?

I avoid his eyes, scanning everything else in the room. I scramble to fix my dress, running my fingers through my hair, and reach for the door.

I need to end this-whatever this is-right now.

But his voice curls around my name, stopping me.

"Aren't you forgetting something, honey?"

I freeze, hand on the doorknob.

"What?" I manage to ask, trying to sound calm.

That infuriating smirk is back, that ridiculous, sex-laden smirk that makes my knees weak. He opens a drawer and pulls out a sleek card. He hands it to me. "Here. Whenever you feel like you need me."

I stare at it. Ivanov Rodriguez. So that's his name.

I clear my throat. "Well... I don't think I'll be needing this. Whatever yesterday was... it was a huge mistake." I fling the card at him. "I don't want to see you again. Ever. 

I'm getting married in two weeks."

His face darkens. Disappointment flickers across his perfect features.

I unlock the door and run. Outside, I press a hand to my chest, exhaling slowly.

The taxi ride is a blur. Manhattan speeds past in neon streaks and headlights. I lean back, trying to relax, but my heart refuses to settle.

I can't believe I spent a night in a stranger's bed. I can't believe I almost... gave myself to him. I even begged, in my dream, for his touch.

How cheap.

But damn it, if the sex in that dream wasn't fire...

Whoever Ivanov Rodriguez is, I need to avoid him. At all costs. Never see him again. Never cross paths with that dangerously handsome face.

But my body betrays me. My mind betrays me. Even two minutes away from him, I feel his hands, his lips, his heat. The way he held me, like I was precious, like I belonged entirely to him.

Every nerve in me is alive, every part of me burning. That mismatched-eyed devil is a fever I've never caught before.

The soft hum of the car stereo does nothing to soothe me. I roll down the window, letting the cold February breeze whip through my red hair, momentarily blurring my vision. I don't care.

One name keeps running through my mind: Ivanov Rodriguez.

When I finally arrive at the family house, the security guards are driving out, scanning the streets for me.

"Miss Druscilla!" Jake, head of security, comes running, relief written all over his face. "Where have you been? We've been-"

"I'm fine," I interrupt, slipping on my sunglasses.

"But your mother doesn't know that," he says, worry lacing his tone. "She's been worried sick!"

"Panicking won't solve anything," I reply smoothly, striding through the front door.

My step falters the moment I enter the living room. Mum stands near one of her abstract pieces, arms crossed, scolding Issac, Kaila, and Avery about-well, who knows? Safety, probably.

"Come on, Mum. You don't need to be this dramatic," I say, announcing my presence.

All eyes snap to me.

"Oh, there she is! The rebellious child!" Mum exclaims, hand raised theatrically.

I exhale sharply. Drama. Always drama.

Her gaze sweeps over my outfit: mini skirt, corset blouse-the remnants of last night's club attire.

"What is this?!" she yells. "Clothes? You call these clothes?!"

I shrug. "Clothes."

Her face twists in disgust. "When did you start wearing such... disrespectful outfits?"

I ignore her, letting my eyes land on Issac, my dear fiancé who abandoned me outside when I needed him most.

Surprisingly, Avery, who had been sitting far too close to Issac, moves to another couch. My brow lifts. Since when are they cozying up like that?

"I'm talking to you, young lady!" Mum snaps, pulling me back into focus.

I turn to her, rolling my eyes. Mum is aging, and she needs to stop yelling and carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"Stop giving me that look!" she shouts. "Who put you up to this?"

"Uhm...," Kaila clears her throat.

I blink my lashes at her to keep quiet but she ignores my body language.

"I did," Kaila blurts nervously before I can stop her.

Mum's frown deepens. "Kaila?"

"Yesterday was Cilia's   birthday," Kaila explains, rubbing her hands together. "And since she's getting married soon, I thought... Maybe we could have a little fun." She laughs nervously.  

"So we went to a Spanish club downtown."

Mum's face softens briefly, then hardens again. "So you decided to go to a club without telling me?"

"I'm not a child anymore," I shoot back, striding toward the stairs. "You don't get to control every little thing I do."

"Really?" Mum's voice follows me, sharp with disbelief.

"Yes. Why can't I have a little fun? You decide everything for me, all the time," I say, my shoulder stiff as I climb.

"Because I know what's good for you!" she shouts. "And you know the rules of this house."

I groan inwardly, pressing a hand to my forehead.

"You won't be allowed to see Kaila henceforth," she says, dropping a bomb.

I spin around, anger coiling in me. "Why?"

"She's a bad influence," Mum replies, as if that explains everything.

Kaila's sweet face looks terrified, eyes wide and pleading.

I smirk despite my fury, letting my gaze settle on Mum's calm, unflinching face.

"Yes," she says, finality ringing in her tone.

I turn to Issac, who has been silent the entire time. My chest rises and falls rapidly, fury and disbelief warring in me.

"Then I'm not sure I still want to marry Isaac," I say, voice low, dangerous, and trembling with fire. "Let's postpone the wedding date."