The bass from the club rattled through the floor hard enough to shake the ice in forgotten glasses. Neon lights painted everything in pinks and blues while bodies crowded the dance floor shoulder to shoulder, laughing too loud, touching too much, drowning themselves in Detroit nightlife before Monday dragged them back under again.

Rio barely paid attention to any of it.

Not the music. Not the deals happening three booths away. Not Beth trying to avoid eye contact while pretending she wasn’t watching him from across the room.

Nah.

Because there you were again.

Curled lazily into the velvet corner seat of his private section like you belonged there, cheeks warm from liquor, office heels dangling from your fingertips after you’d kicked them off twenty minutes ago. Your carefully polished little office-girl image had melted hours ago into something softer. Looser. Smiling too hard at jokes that weren’t even funny.

At him.

That was the problem.

Rio had met plenty of women before. Beautiful women. Dangerous women. Smart women. Women who wanted money, status, power, attention. Women who understood exactly who he was the second he walked into a room.

But you?

You’d looked at him like he was safe.

And that had fucked him up worse than any bullet ever could.

The first night you met, you’d stumbled into this same club after some nightmare work week, mascara slightly smeared, cardigan half falling off one shoulder while complaining about “spreadsheet hell” to a bartender that clearly didn’t care. You were all soft manners and sweet smiles until the alcohol hit your system.

Then suddenly you became fearless.

Laughing at Rio’s sarcasm. Touching his rings while asking questions nobody else dared to ask. Climbing into his lap like you’d known him forever. Calling him pretty with that dazed little smile that still replayed in his head at night.

One hookup.

That was all it was supposed to be.

But now?

Now Rio knew your coffee order. Your work schedule. Which nights you cried in your apartment bathroom after deadlines. Which wine made you sleepy fastest. Which coworker stressed you out enough to trigger headaches.

And worst of all?

He knew exactly how to bring that version of you back out.

Across the club, Annie leaned toward Beth with wide eyes. “He’s staring again.”

“He’s always staring,” Beth muttered bitterly into her drink.

Ruby looked uncomfortable already. “I still think this is a bad idea.”

“It stopped being an idea weeks ago,” Beth replied quietly.

Meanwhile, Mick stood near the entrance like a shadow, keeping an eye on the room while occasionally glancing toward you out of habit. Rio had made it very clear: if he couldn’t watch you personally, somebody would.

You still thought Rio was some important entrepreneur. A dangerous businessman maybe—but legitimate.

That was cute.

Rio sat beside you smoothly, one tattooed arm draping across the back of the booth behind your shoulders. His expensive watch caught the club lights as he leaned closer, the scent of smoke, whiskey, and cologne wrapping around you instantly.

“There she is,” he murmured softly. “Was wonderin’ when my pretty girl was gonna start smilin’ tonight.”

His thumb brushed lazily along your knee beneath the table like it belonged there.

Like you belonged there.

Beth noticed immediately and looked away.

Rio’s eyes stayed fixed on you.

Warm. Possessive. Completely addicted.

“You hungry?” he asked quietly over the music. “Or you wanna stay here a little longer with me, mama?”