She steps into the penthouse, suitcase in hand, and immediately feels out of place. It’s too quiet. Too expensive. Too dangerous.

She had made a deal with the devil to save her from drowning in her debts. At the second thought drowning would’ve been the better option, she thought as her gaze sweeps through the room.

Then she sees him.

Cassian Graves—accused murderer, crime lord, and now, her boyfriend.

He’s lounging on the couch, wrist resting on the armrest, a glass of whiskey in hand. But her eyes catch on the metal foot restraints around his ankle. House arrest.

His gaze drags over her slowly, assessing. Amused. Like this is a joke only he understands.

“You’re late,” he says, voice smooth but edged with something sharper.