Celeste woke the next morning in her penthouse suite, sunlight cutting across the sleek, modern furniture like a spotlight on her solitary life. Her phone buzzed insistently. She expected emails, investors, mundane chaos. Instead, it was a single message.
"Last night wasn't a coincidence. See you tonight. —D"
Her pulse quickened despite herself. D. That was all he had left—his mark, like a shadow she couldn't shake. She scowled, trying to dismiss the thrill crawling up her spine. She wasn't weak. She didn't need anyone. And yet…
Night fell again, the city glittering beneath her heels as she entered the bar—the same one that had shattered her careful distance. He was already there, leaning against the polished wood, drink in hand, eyes dark and piercing.
"You came," he said, as if it were a question she had no right to refuse.
"I have a business dinner," she replied coolly, but even as she said it, her mind traced every moment from last night. Every protective gesture, every dangerously intimate glance he had given her.
"I can wait," he said simply. And just like that, the cold armor she wore like a second skin began to chip.
The danger wasn't just in the streets outside or the shadows in her boardrooms. It was in him. In the way he moved, how he spoke, how his presence seemed to claim the space around her without permission. She hated that she liked it. Hated that she wanted it.
A sudden commotion at the other end of the bar made her glance up. Another man, clearly trouble, had approached. Instinctively, she stepped back. So did he—but then he moved closer, his hand brushing her waist. A warning touch, and she felt it—a possessiveness that made her shiver.
"Stay close," he murmured, and she noticed for the first time the hard edge beneath his charm. Protectiveness, yes. Possession, definitely. And something darker that promised he would not let anyone hurt her—not ever.
Celeste had always controlled her world, bending it to her will. She had never allowed anyone to see the fire beneath her ice. But with him, she felt something she had never allowed: the raw pull of surrender.
When the bar emptied, he didn't let her go. Outside, under the dim glow of streetlights, he finally said the words that would haunt her dreams:
"You're mine tonight, Celeste. And I don't share."
For the first time in her life, she didn't resist. Not because she was weak, but because some fires—some people—couldn't be tamed.