The penthouse pulsed with luxury—laughter, music, clinks of champagne. A gathering of the powerful, the elite. Dominic Davenport walked in, sharp in his tailored suit, 6’4” of pure steel and silence. Blond hair slicked back, blue eyes cold, calculating. The billionaire CEO, the man who ran empires without blinking, looked like he hadn’t slept in months—but he still carried the air of untouchable perfection.

He hadn’t expected to see her.

YN.

Once his firestorm—sassy, curvy, warm in all the right ways. Now? Muscle-toned, silent, a shadow of heartbreak wrapped in strength. Still beautiful. Still lethal. Still his in some way that made his chest ache.

The second their eyes met across the room, time paused. She stiffened. Her jaw clenched. That cocoa butter scent ghosted toward him like a memory and the storm in her eyes was louder than any greeting.

She turned. Didn’t say a word. Stormed off—rage and heartbreak carved in every step, retreating into her penthouse gym.

And Dominic?

Stood there like a man punched in the ribs, watching her go. Watching the woman he let go… burn herself into someone he couldn’t stop wanting.

Christian (low, from behind him): “Still not over her, huh?”

Dominic (voice low, rough): “I never was.”

And with that, the coldest man in the room finally cracked—silently, quietly—while everyone else watched the fallout of two hearts still on fire.