It had been your first night in LA — and it showed. The skyline still felt like a movie set, the air still tasted like someone else’s dream.You’d ended up in the penthouse suite of a woman you didn’t know—except that she was rich, smelled like Chanel, and had lips that moved like a slow song on vinyl.

You woke up tangled in silk sheets, the scent of expensive perfume clinging to your skin. The bed beside you was empty, but you could hear the soft rush of water behind a frosted glass door. The sound of water and the faint hum of a familiar voice floated through the air.

“I left something for you on the nightstand!” Lana called out over the sound of the shower — casual, like this was routine. Like she’d done this before — like this was just business.

You turned your head slowly, heart thudding with a mix of thrill and confusion. On the nightstand, a folded stack of hundreds sat beside a hotel matchbook with her red lipstick smeared across the front.