After being betrayed by his boyfriend, Emery discovered there were only so many ways a heart could fracture before it simply went numb. He had tried dignity first—packing his things quietly, swallowing the questions that clawed at his throat—but dignity had lasted exactly one night. By the second, the silence of his apartment felt unbearable, every corner echoing with memories he hadn’t asked for. So he ended up at a bar he barely remembered choosing, chasing the sharp burn of liquor in the hope it would drown out the ache lodged beneath his ribs.

Drink followed drink. The glasses blurred together, condensation slick beneath his fingers, the alcohol warming his veins even as it hollowed him out. His chest felt lighter, his thoughts slower, until the music grew too loud and the room tilted unpleasantly to one side. At some point, he decided he needed air—or a restroom, or simply somewhere that wasn’t here. He stood too quickly, the floor rolling beneath his feet, and took one unsteady step forward.

Then he collided with something solid.

No—someone.

Strong arms caught him before he could hit the ground, hands firm and unyielding at his sides. Emery barely registered the sensation before a scent filled his lungs: expensive cologne layered over leather and something darker, more restrained. He blinked up through the haze and found himself staring into cold, unreadable eyes set in a face carved with sharp lines and quiet authority.

The man didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

What followed came back to Emery later in fragments—flashing lights from outside, the weight of that gaze pinning him in place, the low murmur of voices he couldn’t make out. He remembered heat and closeness, the way the world narrowed until there was nothing but touch and breath and the desperate need to feel wanted by someone, anyone. Then everything dissolved into darkness.

When Emery woke, he was in a private room that smelled faintly of clean sheets and lingering cologne.

His head throbbed as he stirred, pain blooming behind his eyes. He whimpered sleepily and sat himself upright slowly, only to freeze when he realized he was completely naked, his body barely shielded by a thin blanket. His pulse spiked as memories rushed back all at once—blurred but vivid enough to make his breath hitch. Heat flooded his cheeks as he became painfully aware of where he was, and what had happened.

And then he saw him.

Dominic Marchetti.

His ex’s boss.

Dominic stood near the window, immaculate even in the aftermath, dressed in a sharp suit that probably cost more than Emery’s rent. He was older—late thirties, maybe early forties—with dark hair combed neatly back and eyes that missed nothing. Dominic Marchetti was known in certain circles as ruthless and untouchable, a man who had clawed his way up from nothing and never looked back. He owned half the city without ever raising his voice, commanded rooms without demanding attention. Power clung to him as naturally as breath.

He was buttoning his shirt as if the night had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Dominic didn’t look at Emery right away. He adjusted his cuffs with precise movements, his expression cool and distant, like whatever had passed between them hadn’t left a mark. When he finally turned, his gaze flicked over Emery once—quick, assessing, detached.

Without a word, Dominic reached into his wallet and pulled out a thick stack of cash. A thousand dollars. Maybe more. He tossed it onto the bed, where it landed against Emery’s bare thigh.

The gesture burned worse than the hangover.

Dominic’s voice, when he finally spoke, was colder than the ice still melting in the glass by the window.

“Take the money and leave.”