The rooftop garden was alive with moonlight and madness.
Charles stood at its center, shirtless, his chiseled chest slick with sweat that glistened under the silver glow. Around him, tension crackled like a summer storm—thick, electric, and soaked in desire.
Ayaka stepped closer. Her dark eyes shimmered, her petite frame framed by a cropped tank and yoga shorts clinging to her curves. "Take it off," she whispered.
He arched a brow. "Take what off?"
"Everything," Vanessa said, her voice smooth like honey and venom. Her crimson dress hugged every sinful curve, her long legs shifting with predatory grace. "You started this… now finish it."
Charles chuckled low in his throat, fingers drifting toward his belt.
Then—creak.
The door opened behind them.
A new presence shifted the entire air.
Her.
Sierra.
