The rain was a silver curtain over the city, hissing against the rooftop tiles as Liana Cruz gripped her umbrella and cursed the late hour. The glass doors behind her were locked…again. Thanks to the CEO's "no overtime" policy, the security system had sealed her inside the top floor.
Her heels clicked over the slick tiles as she headed toward the emergency stairwell. That's when she saw it, a strange shimmer in the air, like the heat mirage above asphalt. Only… it pulsed.
She stepped closer.
It wasn't just light. It was a door made of gold mist, humming with an almost seductive pull, as if it recognized her.
The umbrella slipped from her hand. She didn't even notice.
A low, masculine voice whispered from the other side. She couldn't make out the words, but they were deep, rich, and filled with something that made her skin flush.
Her heart pounded. She reached out…
And the world collapsed.
…
Warmth.
The scent of roses and candle wax filled her lungs. Her eyes flew open to find herself lying in a massive four-poster bed draped in silk. The room was lit by flickering candelabras, the glow soft and intimate.
She sat up and froze…
Her reflection in the gilded mirror across the room wasn't Liana Cruz, corporate marketing manager. The girl staring back at her had long, dark curls tumbling over bare shoulders and a gown of gold satin slipping dangerously low over pale skin.
The corset hugged her in ways she wasn't used to, the bodice pushing her breasts high enough that she caught herself blushing at her own image.
The door creaked open.
He stepped inside.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. A crown of dark hair framing a face too perfect to belong to a mortal man. His black eyes swept over her like they had every right to slow, lingering, hungry.
"Amara," he said, his voice like velvet over steel.
She shivered. The name meant nothing… and yet it made something deep in her ache.
"You're… mistaken," she whispered. "My name is…"
He crossed the room before she could finish, stopping so close she could feel the heat from his body. His gloved hand brushed her jaw, tilting her chin up until her lips parted in a breath she couldn't control.
"You look at me as if you don't know me," he murmured, leaning down, his lips almost brushing hers. "And yet… your heartbeat tells me you do."
Her pulse thundered.
"Who are you?" she asked.
His mouth curved in the faintest, most dangerous smile.
"I am the man who's been waiting three years for the chance to touch you again."
The air between them tightened, thick with something she couldn't name. Her mind screamed to pull back, to demand answers but her body leaned forward, chasing the heat of him.
His thumb traced the outline of her lower lip, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing its shape.
"You feel it too, don't you?" he murmured.
Her breath hitched. "Feel… what?"
"That your body remembers me," he said, his voice dipping into a tone that coiled low in her belly. "Even if your mind doesn't."
The words stole the air from her lungs. She didn't know him and yet, his touch felt like a sin she had already committed in another lifetime.
Before she could reply, the heavy doors slammed open. A guard stepped in, bowing low but casting a wary glance at her.
"Your Highness, the council awaits," the man announced.
Prince Alaric didn't take his eyes off her. "Tell them they will wait."
The guard hesitated, then retreated, closing the door behind him.
Alaric leaned closer until the scent of leather and spice wrapped around her like a forbidden promise.
"Tonight, Amara," he whispered, his lips ghosting her ear. "I'll make sure you never forget me again."