The rooftop of Lumière Terrace shimmered like liquid gold under the Aurelia Bay sky. Fairy lights twisted through the air, catching the warm breeze rolling off the water. In the distance, the Elyrian Peaks stood dark and silent, watching over the city like ancient sentinels. Waiters moved like ghosts in white, offering crystal flutes of Veuve Clicquot and delicate canapés dusted with edible shimmer.
Fiona Flare stood near the glass railing in her emerald silk slip dress, the fabric sliding against her skin with every breath like a lover's whisper she didn't want tonight. She'd chosen it because Marcus once said green made her eyes glow like fire. Tonight was supposed to be the night everything locked into place engagement night, five years of promises finally wearing a ring. The five-carat cushion cut diamond on her left hand caught every light, heavy and cold.
Too cold.
She felt the shift before she saw it.
Marcus appeared through the crowd, his smile tight, the one he used in boardrooms when he was about to close a deal or cut someone loose. He touched her elbow lightly, guiding her to the quieter corner where the music faded to a low pulse.
"Fiona," he said, voice low enough that only she could hear. "We need to talk."
Her stomach twisted like someone had yanked a thread.
He didn't look at the ring. He looked everywhere else.
"I can't do this," he said finally. "I've met someone. Someone who aligns with where I'm going. The trajectory. The life we're building."
Fiona laughed a short, sharp sound that tasted like broken glass. "We've been building it together for five years. You proposed three months ago. This party is literally named after us."
"I know." He rubbed the back of his neck, the old tell he thought she didn't notice anymore. "But I've been pretending. To both of us."
The flute trembled in her hand. Bubbles rose like tiny accusations.
"Who?" Her voice came out quieter than she meant.
"Does it matter?"
"Yes. It matters."
He exhaled through his nose "Clara, from finance. She understands the pressure. The ambition. We want the same things."
Clara. Red lips, sharp laugh, always calling him "Marc" like they'd invented intimacy. Fiona had seen the glances across conference tables for months and told herself it was nothing ...
Nothing.
She stared at the ring again. It felt like a handcuff now.
"Take it." She twisted it off, ignoring the sting at her knuckle. She pressed the diamond into his palm and closed his fingers around it. "Keep your trajectory. and your Clara."
"Fiona''....
"Don't." She stepped back, voice steady even as her chest cracked open. "Enjoy the party. Tell them I had a migraine. Or that I finally woke up."
He didn't follow her.
The elevator ride down was silent except for the soft chime of floors passing. When the doors opened to the glittering lobby, Fiona didn't turn toward home. She couldn't face the apartment still half-filled with his things, the wedding magazines she'd stupidly started tearing pages from.
She stepped outside, hailed a cab, and gave the only destination that felt far enough from everything.
"Silvermere District, Eclipse Lounge."
The club hit her like a wave black marble floors, violet strobes cutting through smoke, bass so deep it lived inside her ribs. She didn't check her coat. She walked straight to the bar.
"Vodka. Double. Neat."
The bartender slid it over without asking questions.
She knocked back half in one swallow. Heat bloomed down her throat and settled in her chest like a second heartbeat.
"Rough night?" The voice came from her left low, smooth, edged with something dark and amused.
She turned.
He leaned against the bar like he belonged to the shadows themselves. Tall broad shoulders stretching charcoal wool. Dark hair swept back, a little longer than boardroom rules allowed. Jaw carved sharp, lips curved in the faintest smirk. Eyes the color of storm clouds over the bay intense, unreadable, and currently fixed on her like she was the only flame in the room.
"Heartbreak," she said, tipping back the rest of the vodka. "Yours?"
He smiled slow, dangerous, beautiful. "Not tonight."
"Lucky you."
He lifted two fingers to the bartender. "Another for her. And one for me."
She studied him. No ring. No entourage. Just quiet, expensive power.
"You come here often?" she asked.
"Only when I need to forget the world exists."
She laughed real this time, surprised. "Funny. That's exactly why I'm here."
Their drinks arrived. He raised his glass.
"To forgetting," he said.
She clinked hers against it. "To never being remembered."
They drank.
The night blurred after that easy words, sharp laughter, flirtation that felt like breathing after drowning. No names. No last names. No futures.
When the music slowed and the lights dropped to deep indigo, he leaned in close enough for her to smell cedar and smoke on his skin.
"Dance with me."
It wasn't really a question.
She let him pull her onto the floor. His hand settled low on her back, warm through silk. Her fingers curled into his lapel. They moved like they'd practiced this in another life hips brushing, breath tangling, bodies remembering what words never said.
His palm slid lower, pressing her closer until she felt the hard line of him against her thigh. A spark shot through her, electric and unapologetic. She tilted her head back, meeting his gaze, and saw the hunger there mirroring her own.
Later, when he murmured against her ear, his breath hot and teasing, "Come upstairs with me," she didn't hesitate.
The private suite was black velvet and mirrored walls, city lights glittering through floor-to-ceiling glass like stolen stars. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing out the world.
He kissed her then hard, demanding, like a man claiming territory. His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting of whiskey and want, while his hands roamed possessively one tangling in her hair to tilt her head back for deeper access, the other sliding up her thigh, pushing the silk dress higher until his fingers grazed the damp lace between her legs. She gasped into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders as she pulled him closer, her body already aching for more.
"God, you taste like fire," he growled against her lips, nipping at her bottom one just hard enough to sting sweetly. He spun her around to face the mirror, his eyes locking with hers in the reflection as he slowly unzipped her dress. The silk pooled at her feet like a surrendered secret, leaving her in nothing but black lace panties and heels.
"Look at yourself," he whispered, his mouth at her neck, teeth grazing her pulse point while his hands cupped her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until they peaked hard and sensitive under his touch. Jolts of pleasure shot straight to her core, making her thighs clench. She arched into him, feeling his thick arousal press against her ass hot, insistent, straining against his pants.
Fiona reached back, fingers finding his zipper, freeing him with bold urgency. He groaned low and primal as she wrapped her hand around his lengththick, velvet-hard, throbbing in her grip. She stroked him slowly at first, then firmer, reveling in the way he pulsed, the way his breath hitched against her ear.
He turned her again, lifting her effortlessly onto the velvet chaise. His mouth trailed fire down her body kissing the swell of her breasts, sucking one nipple deep while pinching the other, then lower, tongue dipping into her navel before settling between her thighs. He pushed her panties aside, his breath hot against her slick folds.
"You're soaked for me already," he murmured, voice rough with approval. His tongue flicked over her clit slow circles at first, then faster, delving deeper as she writhed, hands fisted in his hair. She cried out, hips bucking as he sucked gently, then harder, two fingers sliding inside her, curling to hit that perfect spot until pleasure coiled tight and exploded, waves crashing through her in shuddering release.
But he wasn't done. He rose over her, eyes dark with raw need, shedding the rest of his clothes. Muscles flexed under golden skin, a faint scar tracing his ribs like a secret she wanted to learn. He positioned himself at her entrance, teasing her with the head of his cock before thrusting in deep one smooth, filling stroke that made her moan his nameless name.
She wrapped her legs around him, meeting every powerful movement with her own faster, harder, the room filled with the wet sounds of their bodies colliding, gasps and moans echoing off the mirrors. He flipped her onto her hands and knees, taking her from behind, one hand gripping her hip, the other reaching around to circle her clit in relentless rhythm. The angle was deeper, more intense, hitting every nerve until she shattered again clenching around him, milking him as ecstasy ripped through her.
With a guttural groan, he followed thrusting deep one last time, spilling hot inside her in powerful pulses, his body shuddering against hers.
They collapsed together, sweat-slicked and spent, tangled in sheets that smelled of sex, cedar, and her perfume. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her bare back, possessive even in the afterglow.
"Stay," he murmured, voice rough from everything they'd done.
She almost did.
But dawn was bleeding gold across the bay.
She slipped from the bed while he slept, gathered her dress, her shoes, the pieces of herself she could still find though the delicious ache between her thighs would linger for days.
She left no note.
No number.
No name.
Just the faint imprint of her lips on his shoulder and the ghost of her scent on his pillow.
Fiona stepped into the elevator, pressed the lobby button, and whispered to her reflection in the mirrored doors:
"One reckless night. That's all it was."
She had no idea the man she'd just left sleeping was Martin Mole the untouchable CEO of Voss Éclat, the man whose name ruled Aurelia Bay's beauty empire.
And she definitely had no idea she was already carrying his secret.
The kind that would change everything...