Elena woke up with a sharp ache behind her eyes and a heaviness in her chest that made it hard to breathe.
For a few seconds, she stared at the ceiling, confused. It wasn't her bedroom. The walls were darker, the air colder, and the silence felt intentional—controlled. Expensive.
Her heart skipped.
Memories came back in pieces.
Red lights.
Thundering music.
Strong hands guiding her through the crowd.
Eyes watching her like she was prey—and choice at the same time.
She sat up abruptly.
The sheet slipped down her body, and she froze.
She was alone—but not safe.
Her black dress was folded neatly on a chair near the window. Her heels stood side by side below it. Someone had taken care of her. The thought made her stomach twist.
The door opened quietly.
Ethan stepped inside.
He didn't look surprised to see her awake. He looked like he had been waiting.
His dark hair was slightly messy, his shirt wrinkled like he hadn't slept. There was something different about him now—less charming, more dangerous. As if the mask he wore in the club had cracked.
"You're awake," he said calmly.
Elena pulled the sheet tighter around herself. "Where am I?"
"My apartment."
Her breath hitched. "Why?"
"You passed out," he replied. "I wasn't leaving you there."
She searched his face, looking for guilt, regret—something. She found none.
"Where's Liam?" she asked.
Ethan's eyes flicked toward the door. "Here."
Liam leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his presence instantly filling the room. He looked more controlled than Ethan, but that only made him scarier. His gaze dropped briefly to the sheet clutched in her fists, then back to her face.
"You scared us last night," Liam said quietly.
Elena swallowed. "I don't remember everything."
"That's convenient," Ethan muttered.
She glared at him. "I didn't ask for this."
Ethan stepped closer. "You walked into it."
The words felt like a slap.
She stood up suddenly, the sheet slipping, forcing Ethan to turn away just slightly—enough to prove restraint, not innocence.
"I want to go home," she said firmly.
Liam straightened. "You should rest first."
"I said I want to go home."
Ethan stepped aside, opening the door. "No one's stopping you."
She hesitated.
Something in his tone told her this wasn't over.
As she dressed, neither man spoke. But she could feel their eyes on her, heavy, assessing, like they were memorizing her. When she finally turned toward the door, her hands were shaking.
"This doesn't happen again," she said. "Last night was a mistake."
Ethan's mouth curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "Mistakes don't feel like that."
Her chest tightened. "You don't know how it felt."
Liam spoke then, his voice low. "We know exactly how it felt."
Fear sparked.
"Don't," she warned. "I told you the rule. No love. No attachment. No crossing lines."
Ethan took a step closer, stopping inches away. "Rules are for people who still believe they're in control."
She met his gaze, refusing to look away. "I am in control."
"Are you?" he asked softly.
Her heartbeat betrayed her.
She walked out.
By evening, the weight of reality crushed her.
Her husband, Marcus, sat at the dining table when she entered the house. He didn't look up. His phone held more of his attention than she ever had.
"You're late," he said flatly.
"I went out," she replied.
"With who?" His tone was careless, not jealous.
She laughed bitterly. "Does it matter? You wanted freedom."
That made him look up.
"Don't start," he warned.
She leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "You're the one who asked for an open relationship."
Marcus sighed. "I meant honesty. Rules. Not reckless behavior."
Something snapped inside her.
"So sleeping with other women is honesty," she said coldly, "but me going out is reckless?"
He stood, anger flashing. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to," she replied.
He grabbed his keys. "I'm not doing this tonight."
The door slammed behind him.
The silence returned.
Elena slid down to the floor, pressing her back against the cabinet. Her chest hurt. Not because he left—but because she didn't care.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Ethan: You made it home.
Her breath caught.
She didn't reply.
Another message followed.
Liam: You okay?
Her fingers hovered over the screen.
She typed, then erased.
Finally, she sent one message.
Elena: This was a mistake. Don't contact me again.
Three dots appeared.
Then Ethan replied.
Ethan: Liar.
Her pulse raced.
She turned the phone off.
Sleep didn't come.
When it finally did, it was restless—filled with dreams she didn't want. Dark rooms. Hands hovering, not touching. Voices whispering her name like a promise and a threat.
The next night, she went back to the club.
She told herself it was to feel alive again. To prove she was still in control.
She was wrong.
The moment she stepped inside, she felt it.
Eyes on her.
Not strangers.
Them.
Ethan stood near the bar, watching her like he had known she would come. Liam lingered in the shadows, quiet and unreadable.
Her stomach twisted.
She should leave.
She didn't.
Ethan approached slowly, not touching her, not crowding her space. "You said you wouldn't come back."
"I didn't come for you," she said.
"Liar," he repeated softly.
Liam appeared beside them. "You broke your own rule."
Her lips parted. "I didn't touch either of you."
"But you wanted to," Liam said.
Silence stretched.
Music pounded around them, isolating them in their own dangerous bubble.
"I don't want love," Elena said firmly. "I don't want promises."
Ethan leaned in, his mouth close to her ear, his voice low enough to send shivers down her spine. "Good."
Her breath stuttered.
"Because what we want," he continued, "has nothing to do with love."
Fear and desire tangled inside her.
"And everything to do with obsession," Liam added.
She closed her eyes.
She should walk away.
Instead, she whispered, "This stays secret."
Ethan smiled. "It always does."
That was the moment Elena understood.
She wasn't losing control.
She was giving it away.
And once desire turns dark—
There are no rules strong enough to stop it.