Chapter 181 – Marcus POV
The apartment was dimly lit, the only sound echoing through the space was the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant throb of the city nightlife below. Marcus shut the front door quietly, tossing his jacket onto the nearest chair as he ran a hand through his thick, dark hair.
She was asleep.
Curled up on his leather couch like she owned it. Alina Lantel.
The same girl who'd practically driven him to distraction the moment she stepped into his club. That body—sin incarnate—wrapped in a short black dress and boots that screamed danger. She knew what she was doing, and she'd done it well. But now, lying there so still, her long black lashes brushing against her cheeks, her dark hair escaping the messy bun to spill over the pillow... she looked so different.
Peaceful.
Innocent, almost.
Marcus exhaled slowly, dragging his eyes away. He didn't bring women back to his penthouse unless he wanted something from them. And with Alina, it had started as simple interest—pure, base lust. That dress, her confidence, the way she looked at him like she already knew how the night would end. It should've been easy.
But then she asked to wait until morning.
He'd said yes.
Why?
Marcus hated the part of himself that wanted to know more about her. What made her blush? Why she bit her lip when nervous? He didn't want to care about the soft rise and fall of her chest as she slept or the way she curled into the couch like it was safer than his bed.
He wanted this to be simple.
He moved closer and crouched beside her, watching the way a few stubborn curls clung to the side of her neck. Even asleep, her face held the faint traces of something... haunted. Like she was used to fighting, even in dreams.
Damn it.
She shifted slightly, her leg slipping from beneath her. Marcus's jaw tensed. That dress really didn't leave anything to the imagination. And suddenly, the idea of leaving her in it—tight, cold, uncomfortable—bothered him.
With a muttered curse, he rose, heading toward his bedroom. He opened the drawer and pulled out a pair of his PJs—an oversized black shirt and soft cotton drawstring pants. He paused for a second, staring at them in his hands. Since when did he care if a woman was comfortable?
Never.
He walked back and knelt beside the couch again. Gently, he placed the pajamas beside her, then hesitated. She looked so peaceful. For a moment, he just stared at her, letting his eyes travel over her deep green eyes—closed now—and her slightly parted lips. Her skin looked warm, soft, inviting. His fingers itched to trace the curve of her jaw.
But he didn't touch her.
Instead, he stood and stepped back, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
This wasn't like him.
He was Marcus—the man who took what he wanted, then walked away without a backward glance. He didn't let women get under his skin. He didn't offer comfort. He didn't care.
She was just another night.
Just a game.
She wasn't supposed to sleep on his couch. She wasn't supposed to look this vulnerable.
He turned away sharply, pacing back into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, and taking a long sip to cool the frustration that boiled beneath his skin. What was it about her? Maybe it was the mystery in her gaze. Or the way she talked like she knew him, like she wasn't afraid. She didn't throw herself at him. That was rare.
But no.
No, this wasn't going to be some complicated mess. He wasn't going to let her mean anything. She was hot. He wanted her. That was it.
He would sleep with her, get her out of his system, and move on. Simple.
Maybe it was the lull of the night or the stillness in his apartment that made his thoughts too loud. He leaned against the counter, staring into the dark. The city lights blinked through his tall windows, and the moon cast a silver hue across the tiles.
Back on the couch, Alina stirred.
Marcus turned, watching her as she shifted beneath the throw blanket he'd left earlier. She looked small like that. Too small for the weight of whatever secrets she carried behind those green eyes.
He shouldn't feel anything.
But still, there was that annoying throb in his chest. That irrational urge to protect her from whatever demons had taught her to build walls behind that seductive smile.
He clenched his jaw.
"You're not different," he muttered to himself under his breath. "You're just good at pretending to be."
He needed to remember that.
She was just another conquest. A beautiful girl who walked into his club and caught his attention. That was all.
And by morning, she would be in his bed.
He'd make sure of that.
Marcus tossed the empty bottle into the trash and strode back into the living room. He watched her for a beat longer, then turned and disappeared into his bedroom, closing the door with a soft click.
Tomorrow, he'd have her.
But tonight... tonight he'd let her sleep.