"Sweetheart."
"I'm being good."
The young man slowly unbuttoned his shirt, his slender fingers trembling, his eyes red from holding back emotion. He looked at her like he was begging.
Right under her gaze, he undressed himself, piece by piece, with no shame left.
And with each low, hoarse breath calling her "sweetheart," Rhea Sinclair lost all self-control.
Rhea shot awake.
Panting. Face flushed. Body damp with sweat. Her eyes were still glazed with leftover desire.
It was a dream.
A vivid, near-identical replay of that insane, no-holds-barred ten days from three years ago.
She must be going crazy.
She stumbled out of bed, turned on the light, and downed a glass of water to cool the fire building inside her. But every time she closed her eyes, that image came crashing back.
Restless and irritated, throat still dry, sleep was out of the question.
She padded barefoot to the coffee table, pulled out a slim cigarette, and lit it. The faint smoke did nothing to settle her nerves. If anything, the images got clearer.
She covered her forehead with her arm and muttered a curse.
"Clearly been celibate too damn long."
Decision made.
Ten minutes later, she was dressed, made-up, and texting her best friend Zoe Lane.
Before leaving, Rhea slicked on lipstick and brushed her long, dark hair. The mirror reflected a face so stunning it didn't even need makeup. Her lips curled into a smirk.
The tiny beauty mark beside her nose added an extra touch of danger.
She looked nothing like a washed-up starlet. Still an absolute knockout.
It was a vibrant night in downtown Kyoto. The richer the crowd, the more decadent the club.
Zoe arrived at the exclusive AS Club in a whirlwind. "Didn't you say you had a magazine shoot? Why drag me out now?"
"Got bored," Rhea replied nonchalantly, eyes scanning the bar. "Felt like hunting."
Zoe blinked. Then grinned.
"Holy sh*t! Babe, you're finally over that younger guy from back then?! It's a miracle!"
Three years ago, Rhea had gone on vacation abroad and accidentally rescued a ridiculously gorgeous male model being harassed by drunk women.
He was stupid hot. A literal god among men.
To thank her, he treated her to dinner and walked her to her hotel.
Every day of those ten days, he waited for her downstairs, looking like a lost puppy.
"I don't know anyone here," he said with wide, pleading eyes. "Please don't leave me, sweetheart."
Rhea had a soft heart. She couldn't stand to see someone so pretty looking so helpless. So she let him tag along for the rest of her trip.
On the last day, when she said goodbye, he froze. Then followed her back to the hotel and started undressing.
The dream she just had? That wasn't a dream back then.
He was nineteen. She was twenty-two.
She barely made it out of that bed alive.
By the time she returned, she was covered in bruises and kiss marks. Fevered and exhausted. Zoe picked her up at the airport and nearly fainted at the sight.
That wild fling left such a scar that Rhea hadn't touched a man since. She even turned down intimate roles in films, unable to handle physical contact.
Which, in the entertainment industry, was practically career suicide.
Now, cocktail in hand, she let Zoe drag her through the club. But none of the flashy trust fund boys interested her.
AS Club was high-end. The real elite gathered upstairs.
"Come on," Zoe insisted. "Better prey up there."
On the second floor, a group of young men surrounded a pool table, drinking and shouting.
"Come on, man! Just one ball left and you still missed?"
"F*ck it. Let's make this interesting."
Adrian Cole turned to a man lounging on the sofa, glass in hand, lips slightly red from the liquor. He had a lazy elegance, almost sickly beautiful.
"Lucas," Adrian smirked. "Let's call some girls over."
Lucas DeWitt didn't answer.
He stared into his glass, half-lidded eyes unreadable. The unbuttoned collar of his black shirt revealed a black gemstone necklace nestled in his collarbone.
His whole vibe screamed decadent danger.
Just as Adrian was about to call for a server, he caught sight of Rhea walking in. His cigarette dropped.
"Holy... Lucas, I just saw an actual angel."
Zoe, scanning the room like a radar, suddenly gasped.
"Rhea!" she grabbed her friend's shoulder, eyes wide. "Target spotted. Absolute top-tier. The guy on the sofa. Gorgeous. So your type!"
Rhea turned.
And the moment their eyes met—
CRACK.
Lucas's glass shattered in his hand.
Blood mingled with the bright liquor, dripping down his fingers.
He didn't seem to feel it. Just stood, trembling.
"Sweetheart..."
Rhea froze.
That voice.
That face.
It was him.
Her nineteen-year-old vacation fling.
She bolted.
Zoe, confused: "Wait, what?! Why are we running? He's a god! I was about to hit on him if you weren't!"
"He IS the guy!" Rhea hissed, dragging her out. "The one from three years ago!"
Zoe: "...WHAT."