PROLOGUE
WARNING: This book contains steamy scenes. 18+ only.
His breath brushed her ear before his fingers slid around her waist and pulled her back against his chest.
"Say you want this, Mara," Rowan whispered, voice deep, calm, dangerous.
His lips grazed the side of her neck, sending a shiver racing down her spine.
She swallowed. "Rowan… please—"
His hand tightened, turning her toward him.
His mouth hovered over hers, not touching, just burning her with the promise of it.
"You think I'll stop," he murmured, brushing his thumb across her lower lip. "But I won't. Not tonight."
Her heartbeat stumbled, her body trembling.
And when his mouth finally met hers, everything she thought she knew unraveled.
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CHAPTER ONE
Mara hadn't eaten since morning.
She hadn't slept properly in days.
And now, her bank app mocked her with bright blue numbers glowing across her cracked screen:
$32.17.
That was all she had left.
Her throat tightened as she stared across the restaurant floor. Customers laughed, forks clinked, and the smell of grilled steak and buttered garlic fries drifted past her like punishment, constant reminders that she couldn't afford even the cheapest side dish here.
She didn't belong in a place like this, not when she couldn't afford a bus ride home without recalculating how many trips she had left before her balance hit zero. But she'd come because Lucas asked. He insisted. And even though she should've known better, her hopeful heart believed he wanted to fix what had been quietly breaking between them for weeks.
The waiter passed again, giving her a tired look, his silent reminder that she had been nursing the same glass of water for almost an hour.
She glanced down at her cracked phone again.
Still nothing.
Still no apology.
Still no Lucas.
"You okay?"
She jumped slightly as her older sister, Camille, slid into the seat across from her. Camille looked perfect, as always—wavy auburn hair, red lipstick, designer heels clicking with the confidence of someone who owned every room she stepped into. Even her perfume smelled expensive.
"why are you here?" Mara said.
Camille replied smoothly, crossing her legs. "You're late."
Mara blinked. "Late? Lucas and I…."
"He's not coming," Camille cut in, calm as water.
Mara's heart stuttered. "What do you mean he's not coming?"
Camille inspected her blood-red nails with bored precision, delivering the news like it meant nothing at all.
"He and I have been… spending time together."
Silence swallowed the world around them.
The restaurant faded away—voices, music, movement—everything fell flat against the echo of those words.
Mara's mouth went dry. "You're joking."
Camille raised a brow. "Do I look like I'm joking?"
The air left Mara's lungs. Her spine hollowed. Her fingers went numb around the menu.
"You knew how I felt about him," she whispered.
"Oh, please," Camille scoffed. "You were a placeholder. A warm body he could talk to until something better came along."
"Better," Mara repeated quietly.
"That's me." Camille shrugged, unapologetic. "I'm saving him from your little fairytale fantasies. Men like Lucas want reality. And honestly, you should thank me. You never stood a chance."
She stood, smoothed her dress, grabbed her purse. "Anyway, I came so you wouldn't embarrass yourself waiting all night. You're welcome."
Then she walked away, leaving behind her perfume and the wreckage she caused.
Mara didn't move.
Couldn't.
Tears burned behind her eyes, but she swallowed them down. Crying wouldn't change anything. Crying wouldn't refill her bank account. Crying wouldn't fix the fact that she was broke, exhausted, and now utterly alone.
Outside, the evening air hit her like a slap. She wrapped her arms around herself as she walked, neon lights reflecting on wet pavement. The city buzzed around her—cars, voices, life that refused to pause even though hers had.
She forced herself back inside the restaurant for her shift, tying her apron.
"Mara," her manager snapped before she even stepped behind the counter. "Your break ended ten minutes ago."
"I—I'm sorry," she whispered.
He stared her down. "We're short-staffed. Focus. Table 14 needs refills."
She tried.
God, she tried.
But Camille's words echoed in her skull—sharp, poisonous.
You never stood a chance.
Her hands shook as she grabbed the tray. One too-hard blink later, a glass tipped.
Cold liquid splashed across a customer's crisp white shirt.
The man stood abruptly. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I—I'm so, so sorry," she stammered.
"This shirt costs more than your entire paycheck!"
Her cheeks flamed with humiliation.
Her manager appeared instantly. "Mara. Office. Now."
Inside, his disappointment hung heavy.
"This is the third mistake this week," he sighed. "Your head is somewhere else."
"It won't happen again," she whispered.
"If it does, I'll have to let you go."
She returned to the floor like a ghost, finishing her shift in silence.
By closing time, drizzle coated the city. Mara stepped out, soaked shoes squishing against the concrete.
She headed toward the bus stop but stopped halfway, chest tightening.
Lucas.
As much as she hated herself for it, a small part of her still wanted to believe Camille lied.
She turned toward his apartment building.
The doorman nodded as she slipped inside. She didn't text. Didn't hesitate. Walking in had always been natural.
Upstairs, she unlocked the door with her spare key.
"Lucas?" she called softly.
No answer.
She took another step, then paused.
A sound.
Soft.
Then again—clearer.
A low, breathy moan.
Her heartbeat faltered.
She followed the sound down the hallway, each step dragging her deeper into a nightmare. The moans grew louder, unmistakably feminine. Skin against skin. The rhythmic creak of a bed. A low male groan.
Mara
reached the half-closed bedroom door.
Her fingers trembled as she pushed it open an inch.
And the sight on the other side stole the breath from her lungs.