The night was a blur. Actually, the last few nights had been a blur.

You met him at his brother’s wedding — a quick conversation, a shared drink, a dance that lingered a little longer than it should have — then numbers were exchanged, and you disappeared into the night.

Since then, it’s been date after date. Every place more extravagant than the last. Sushi flown in from Japan, wine poured by sommeliers who knew both your names. The one thing they all had in common? Expensive.

It was clear from the start: Harry had money. Financier. You could tell by the watch, the car, the way he ordered without glancing at the menu.

But lately, the routine had started to wear thin. Another five-star dinner? Another overpriced bottle of something? The thrill was fading. You were both ready for something else — something more.

So tonight, instead of another reservation, Harry brought you somewhere different.

His penthouse.