Ava returned to Jenna's couch, her legs curled beneath her, watching the clock tick past 11:45 p.m.

The silence that had settled in Jenna's living room after Ava's admission felt thick and heavy with unspoken judgment and wild anticipation.

Outside, the soft, relentless sound of falling snow was the only thing disturbing the stillness.

"Look, it's not too late to call this off," Marisol said gently. She was pacing the floor, her mug of hot chocolate abandoned on the coffee table. Her concern was a palpable, warm veil in Jenna's apartment, almost making Ava want to lean into the comfort of her friend's concern.

Jenna, meanwhile, was buzzing with a nervous energy that was the exact opposite of Marisol's concern.

She sat ramrod straight next to Ava, sipping her wine so fast she risked staining the white rug.

"Yeah, I mean, Mari's right. You can always bail. You can tell him you had a sudden family emergency if things get awkward. Or, hell, you can send him an anonymous text that says, 'answer the door. It's your lawyer neighbor, and she's horny.'"

"No," Ava said, her voice quiet but firm, cutting through Jenna's frantic attempt at humor.

She didn't look at either of them; her gaze was fixed on the second hand of the clock, willing it to move faster. She wanted this over with. "I'm doing this."

She felt the panic trying to rise, a cold, sharp feeling in her chest, the same way she felt before a major, career-defining court trial. But she ruthlessly pushed it down. She had a plan. Lawyers executed plans. They didn't retreat because of a little fear.

She had faced down senior partners, intimidated witnesses, and argued against some of the fiercest litigators in the city. She could handle knocking on a young man's door.

(No strings. No expectations. Just sex. It's a physical need, like hunger or sleep, and I have a solution living thirty feet away.)

"But, Ava, come on," Marisol pleaded, stopping in front of her. "You don't even know him. We don't know anything about him, not even his full name! Just... just his skills. And frankly, that skill is concerning! What if he's, like, very lacking down there?"

Ava snorted, a small, wry sound. "He's a man who enjoys sex, Mari. Loudly. I'm sure the girls he's been fucking don't care how small or big he is if they continue to go back. And that's all I need to know for this purpose. And as for not knowing him... that's the point."

She turned to Marisol, finally meeting her eyes.

She offered a strained, genuine smile. "It's the safest option. No emotional entanglement. He's a stranger, and I need a transaction. This is just... a service. Think of him as a highly specialized, very convenient contractor for our firm."

"A contractor of chaos!" Jenna exclaimed, raising her glass. "I like it."

Marisol threw a cushion at Jenna, who dodged it with a cackle. "This isn't funny, Jenna! Ava, look at me. You are emotionally vulnerable right now. You're coming off years of being told your body is faulty, that you're not 'wet enough.' What if this goes wrong? What if he's cruel? Or what if he laughs at you?"

That hit a nerve. Ava felt a sharp jab of insecurity. The memory of Henry's refusal, the painful entry, and her subsequent pleading for Henry to just fuck her like that was still a raw wound. That failure had haunted her sex life, or lack thereof, for a decade.

"That's why I want Noah," Ava confessed, her voice dropping to a whisper. "He doesn't know any of that history, and I don't intend to tell him. He has no emotional investment. I can tell him exactly what I need...and he'll treat it like a job. A performance. He'll be professional. He has to be, given the sheer number of... clients he seems to service."

Jenna nodded sagely. "The sheer number suggests high-level client management. Five stars on Google review, I bet."

"I'll be fine, Mari, really," Ava reassured her best friend, placing a hand on Marisol's knee. She pulled herself upright, forcing her shoulders back into their courtroom posture. "If I back out now, I'll never do it. I'll keep listening through the wall, starving myself of an experience that my toys are probably tired of making up for. I'm tired of feeling left out of my own life."

Marisol sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat, but her eyes remained worried. "Okay. Okay. Just... promise me you'll use protection. Lord knows how many girls he's fucked raw. And if you feel even slightly uncomfortable or he tries to take advantage, you walk straight out of that door, you hear me? You call the police, you call us, you scream...whatever you need to do."

"I promise, Mari. And I have my keys and my phone, right here in my coat pocket." She tapped the fabric to prove it.

Jenna checked her watch. "Twelve o'clock sharp. Just enough time for Noah to catch his breath before the next performance."

"Jenna!" Marisol hissed.

"Sorry. But it's true! Timing is everything, Ava. You don't want to walk in on a girl still tying her shoes."

Ava found herself laughing, a nervous, shaky sound that broke the tension. "Thanks, Jenna. That's... helpful."

"And one last thing," Jenna said, her expression suddenly serious. "The age thing. If he looks like a teenager playing dressup, you walk away. If he's under twenty-five, he should have a note from his mother."

"I agree with Jenna on that," Marisol chimed in, relieved to have a concrete boundary with Jenna. "Don't break any laws, Ava."

"Girls, you know it's not illegal to sleep with men older than twenty-two, right?" Ava teased.

Marisol scowled while Jenna grimaced.

"Yeah, yeah...I know but we're not men, Ava. Younger men are all right, I suppose, but like, you're a lawyer, making your own bank. He's still in college, you're miles ahead of him...there's nothing he can give you right now besides his cock. And we all know how very insecure men tend to be when their girlfriends are doing better than they are." Jenna advised, being all serious.

Marisol once again agreed with Jenna. "She's right, Ava. The truth of the matter is that we don't know what he's like. Just walk away if he seems too young."

"Okay, I'll walk," Ava promised.

"Still, I'm thirty-two. I'm hoping he's at least twenty-five. I'll make a judgment call. If he looks like he should be studying for finals, I'm bailing. Happy?"

(Please, God, let him not be nineteen.) Ava prayed silently.

The clock chimed, a soft, electronic chime that sounded deafening in the suddenly quiet room.

Midnight.

"That's my cue," Ava said, standing up. The wine and the sudden certainty of her decision made her movements feel a little shaky, but she focused on the necessity of the act. This wasn't a choice; it was a deadline she had to meet, a box she had to tick for her own well-being.

Jenna jumped off the couch and grabbed Ava in a bone-crushing hug. "Go get 'em, tiger! And if he says no, which by the way is impossible because girl, even in your Winnie the Pooh PJs, you're still taking it!!...you come right back down here. We'll order pizza, watch trash TV, and get blackout drunk. Deal?"

"Deal." Ava laughed, happy to have her friends' support.

Marisol was next, her hug softer, more protective. "Be safe, honey. Text us if you don't feel like coming back down here. Even if it's just a thumbs-up emoji."

Ava nodded, pulling her coat tight around her, the adrenaline spiking. She took one last, deep breath in the warmth of Jenna's apartment, then stepped into the cool hallway.

The air in the stairwell was colder now. The soft glow of the Christmas lights seemed to mock her serious mission. As she climbed the stairs back to her floor, she focused on the rhythm of her feet, trying to regulate her pounding heart.

(This is fine. This is a business transaction. You are a successful woman making a very direct request to a qualified service provider. You handle high-stakes negotiations every day. You can do this.)

But this was different. Her professional confidence felt miles away, locked in her corner office. This was personal. This was primal. This was the most terrifying thing she had ever done in her entire adult life.

She reached her floor and made her way back toward her apartment, stopping short when she reached her own door. Next to hers was the door to Apartment 101.

Noah's apartment. The source of her long-term, unintentional torment.

She took three deep, calming breaths, mentally running through her opening lines. She had to be direct, confident, and leave no room for misunderstanding.

(I hope he's not nineteen. Please let him be at least twenty-five. If I can't verify his age, I'll ask if he's currently enrolled in an undergraduate program.)

She raised a trembling hand and knocked once on the solid wood of his door. It was a firm, definitive rap, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet hallway. She deliberately didn't rush it, needing to project confidence.

Silence.

She waited. Seconds stretched into an entire minute. Every nerve ending was singing. She felt ridiculous, standing here like a Girl Scout selling cookies, except she was selling access to her own body. She considered turning around. Maybe he fell asleep? Maybe the girl never left?

(No. I'm not running.)

Just as she was about to actually run, the lock clicked. The sound was sharp and echoed through the silent hall. The door opened slowly, dragging her attention to the man standing in the threshold.

Ava's rehearsed composure shattered into a million tiny, sparkling pieces.

She'd heard him, imagined him, and obsessed over the noise he made for months. But nothing, absolutely nothing, had prepared her for the sight of him this up close. The sight, which was far more better than she'd gotten from just across the hallway.

He was the kind of beautiful that felt like an unfair, genetic anomaly.

He was tall, truly towering, with broad shoulders that strained the width of the doorframe.

And he was shirtless, the lean, hard lines of his chest and abdomen exposed until they ended in a very well-defined V-line that peeked out of his joggers.

Every pec of muscle seemed to be artfully carved, a landscape of male perfection under the dim hallway light. She could see the faint scarring of old injuries, a roughness that made him look even more dangerous, more real.

Below his waist, he wore a pair of dark gray cotton joggers that hung dangerously low on his hips, revealing the sharp, defined V-line where the fabric dipped into his briefs.

He's like a sculpture. A very, very sexy Russian sculpture.

His hair was brown and disheveled, as if he'd just run his hands through it, or someone else had.

And his face. He had the angular, impossibly handsome features she'd associated with models or actors, all harsh planes, high cheekbones, and an unreadable severity.

But it was his eyes that stopped Ava's breath...a piercing, startling shade of emerald green. They were fixed on her with a blank, unreadable intensity. They held no warmth, no anger, only observation.

She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. The sound was loud in the hallway. Her knees felt suddenly, alarmingly weak, threatening to buckle under the sheer magnetic force of him.

Noah didn't move. He simply studied her. Then, his green gaze dipped, briefly tracing the curve of her full lips before snapping back up to meet her eyes. The fleeting, silent appraisal sent a lightning bolt of heat straight to her core.

Maintain composure. You are a mature adult. Ask about his age.

She cleared her throat, forcing herself to focus on the task. The age question vanished from her mind, replaced by the crushing reality of his physical presence. Good thing he didn't look like a teenager; everything about him screamed Alpha Male.

He still hadn't said a word. He was simply watching her, waiting. He folded his arms over his impressive chest, the movement flexing his biceps. He leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, his posture a picture of casual, bored invitation. Or perhaps, utter disinterest.

Ava fought against the shiver his unwavering gaze sent up her spine. This was too much. The silence. The proximity. The overwhelming, raw presence of him. The air seemed to vibrate with unspent energy.

When Noah didn't make a move to speak or even shift his weight, Ava knew she had to go for the kill. He wasn't going to make this easy.

She forced herself to speak, even though her voice came out slightly breathy.

"Uh... Hi," she began, her voice a little higher and thinner than she intended. She gestured lamely toward her door. "I'm your neighbor. Just right next door. Ava."

Noah's expression didn't change. His piercing green eyes remained fixed on her, assessing, judging, waiting for her to break.

"I know this is late," she pressed on, determined to sound like she was giving a closing argument. "And I know we haven't... formally met. But I heard the sounds. I mean, I hear the uh...girls, frequently." She winced internally.

(Too much information, Ava!)

She paused, willing him to say something. Anything. A groan, a scoff, a single syllable. Nothing. Just the slow, deliberate scrutiny.

She took a final, desperate breath. She was out of polite conversation and running out of nerve. Time for the direct approach.

"Look," she said, cutting to the chase, her lawyer brain finally kicking back into gear. "I need something. A favor, I guess. It's a very specific request, and I'm prepared to compensate you for your time. And frankly, you're... convenient. And clearly skilled."

She saw his brow arch barely perceptibly, a subtle sign that he was processing her words.

"I want you to fuck me."

There. It was out. Blunt, raw, and completely mortifying. She squeezed her eyes shut for a microsecond, bracing for the scoff, the rejection, the demand for an explanation. Her entire body felt frozen, waiting for the verdict.

She opened her eyes. Noah was still there, his arms folded, his face impassive. The silence stretched again, thick and agonizing.

But then, the corner of his lips tilted. A fraction of an inch. It wasn't a smile, not exactly, but an acknowledgement. A small, dangerous ripple across the surface of his control, like a flicker of fire deep in a cave. It seemed to say: I see your audacious proposal.

Then, without a single word, without shifting his gaze from her face, Noah pushed the door open completely, stepping aside to let her in.

The invitation was silent, heavy, and absolute.

He watched her, this woman, his next-door neighbor. She was very unexpected and he hated surprises. He hated disruptions. This woman had disrupted his plans for the night.

And he was disappointed that she was here, just like the other women who came to his apartment.

But of course, he'd known she lived next door. For two years, he knew he had a neighbor. But it was only a few months ago that he finally got to see her face. Many things didn't surprise Noah, but that day, he was very surprised.

He didn't know her name, not that he cared about names, but after the day he finally saw her for the first time, he knew her nightly schedule.

He knew when the soft tap-tap of her typing stopped, usually around midnight or later, and he knew the sounds of frustration she made when things weren't going well because of the noise that regularly came from his apartment.

He knew she liked the silence of the night for work, and he knew his life choices made that impossible.

Even with how late she worked into the night, she still got up by five a.m. for a run, before preparing for work.

He'd caught quick glimpses of her in the hallway. A tailored dark blue blazer, a serious posture, a bag. The epitome of calm and controlled.

But the woman standing before him now, late on a cold December night, was something else entirely. She was trembling slightly, visible even beneath the thick wool of her coat.

His gaze, trained by years of observation and necessity, took her in with brutal efficiency, noting details she probably thought were hidden by her glasses and her professional veneer.

She had a mass of curly black hair, thick and untamed, that fell past her shoulders and stopped around the middle of her back, providing a stark contrast to the severe way she usually styled and pulled it back for work.

Her skin was a beautiful, soft, warm tan, currently flushed with mortification, making the smattering of freckles across her nose almost invisible.

Her eyes, almond-shaped and wide with a mix of anxiety and defiance, were a rich honey brown, not boring brown, but warm, liquid gold that threatened to spill over.

And her lips. They were full, naturally pouty, and currently wet where she'd nervously licked them before delivering her astonishing request.

With how stable she was, Noah guessed she was thirty-something, a professional, completely out of his range, but here she was, offering herself up with the straightforwardness of a seasoned negotiator.

(I want you to fuck me.)

He held the silence, testing her resolve. He saw the way her hands clenched into fists in her pockets, the way her breath hitched once, twice.

He watched her fighting a losing battle against the need to apologize or flee. He liked the tension in her stance, the internal war she waged in herself, between the lawyer who demanded control and the woman who was finally, desperately, going for something that she wanted.

She wasn't like the other women who came here to forget, to revel, to lose themselves in the noise. This one was here to find something, perhaps the control she claimed to want, or perhaps the release that had eluded her.

He gave her the smallest acknowledgment, the slight tilt of the lips, as he stepped aside to let her in. He didn't need to speak.

His apartment was a black hole of mystery, instantly confirming everything Ava suspected about him: he was a creature of the night, shrouded in shadow and silence. The only light source came from a lamp at the far corner of his living room.

Momentarily, Ava paused to wonder how Noah could afford to live in a building like this. He was probably the

only guy in his twenties who lived here. She hadn't met most of the tenants, but by her calculations, everyone who resided here was well into their thirties and working some big corporate job.

It was one of the most expensive apartment buildings in San Francisco. Were his parents some kind of billionaires?

Noah turned to face her after she made to enter his apartment, and her breath stuttered. She forced herself to look away from the dangerous expanse of his bare chest and into the darkness beyond.

What she was about to do felt less like entering an apartment and more like crossing a continental divide. She was leaving the safe, organized world of Ava Sinclair, Esq., for the terrifying, obscure world of Noah.

He remained leaning against the doorframe, a sculpture carved from granite and heat, still watching her with those piercing, moss-green eyes. They felt ancient, like he had seen this scenario play out a thousand times before...which, of course, he had.

Ava palmed her face mentally.

She wasn't the first woman to come through his door and she certainly wouldn't be the last. That gave her some kind of relief. It meant that when Noah was done with her tonight, she'd be easily forgotten as he moved onto the next girl.

In that moment, he was as mysterious and unknowable as a black hole; dark, distant, and capable of gravitational pull strong enough to destroy her.

She took another unsure step forward, fully entering his apartment.

"Wait," she whispered, her voice barely audible as a thought suddenly came to her. She reached up a hand, steadying herself against the doorframe she had just passed. "I'm prepared to compensate you for your time."

It wouldn't bode well for her as a lawyer if she walked away without paying Noah for his services. He might be offering it to other women for free, but it wouldn't change anything for her.

Noah straightened slowly, pushing off the doorframe. The movement was fluid, controlled, and utterly mesmerizing. He took one step toward her, closing the small gap between them, and the air immediately thickened, smelling faintly of expensive soap, and something dark and purely masculine.

He was intimidatingly close now. Close enough that she had to tilt her head back sharply to meet his eyes. Close enough that she could feel the faint radiation of heat coming off his body.

He finally spoke. His voice was deep, a low rumble that vibrated in her chest, just as rough and commanding as the few syllables she'd heard through the wall earlier.

"How much?" There was a rough accent to his voice, but Ava couldn't place it.

Ava swallowed. She hadn't thought it through. How much was going to be enough? And if he truly came from a very rich household, then how much would be enough?

She mentally shook her head. No, there was no need to overthink. Her fear was momentarily superseded by professional pride. "Five hundred dollars, cash or transfer...whatever you need. I don't expect that there would be a repeat performance...unless mutually agreed upon."

Yes, that's right. Ava wasn't expecting to come back to his apartment but if Noah truly proved capable with

his bedroom skills then she might be tempted to come back for more.

Noah's eyes narrowed slightly, processing the figure. His expression remained neutral, but the intensity in his gaze was crushing.

He then lifted one of his large, strong hands and gently, with a kind of care that didn't suit his demeanor, pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. The casual intimacy of the gesture shocked her system.

His fingers were warm against her nose, rough-looking but tender in their movement.

"Keep your money," he murmured, his voice cutting through the silence like velvet-wrapped steel.

Ava's jaw dropped slightly. "What? No. I...I insist on payment. This isn't a favor, and I'm sure you need money, even though you look like you're doing okay for yourself."

"I said keep it," he repeated, his tone firm and annoyed, leaving no room for argument. "I don't take charity." His eyes dropped to her lips again for a dangerous second.