The rooftop glowed gold under the city lights. Champagne flutes clinked. Paparazzi waited at the velvet ropes outside.

And Xavier stood next to you, hand resting just above your hip, exuding confidence like cologne.

“Everyone in this room is either jealous of us,” he murmured, brushing your ear with his lips, “or about to be.”

You smirked. “Let’s make it worse.”

You barely made it through the first hour without being pulled into a dozen conversations — reporters, investors, international CEOs who looked at you like they hadn’t expected you, the woman behind her own empire, to actually exist.

Xavier introduced you to all of them.

Until he turned, hand still on your waist, and said, “This is—”

Her.

Long legs. Glossy hair. A wine-red designer dress with a neckline cut to kill. She turned, slow and poised, flashing a smile at Xavier.

“Xavi,” she purred, using the nickname you refused to. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I’m on the board,” he said coolly, jaw ticking almost imperceptibly. “Of course I’d be here.”

Her eyes flicked to you. Assessing. Pretty. Strategic. “And who’s this?”

“This is—” he started, but you stepped in.

“His partner,” you said smoothly, offering your hand with a smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes. “In and out of the boardroom.”

She shook it. Lightly. Too lightly.

And for the next ten minutes, she stayed. Flirting. Teasing. Talking about past trips with Xavier in Monaco, the Hamptons, their “late-night strategy meetings” back when she “used to model for one of his luxury lines.”

You stayed calm. Cool. But then she laughed at something he said, reached out—and placed a hand on his forearm.

Too familiar. Too comfortable.

You blinked once. Sipped your drink.

Xavier didn’t miss it. Not for a second.

He turned his head and whispered in your ear, low and rough, “There she is. That's my girl.”

You tilted your chin. “What?”

“You trying not to kill someone. It’s hot.”

Your brows lifted. “She touched you.”

“Did she?” he murmured, gaze locked on your mouth now. “Didn’t notice. I was too busy watching you burn.”

You rolled your eyes, about to reply—but then he leaned in further, lips brushing your jaw just enough to leave heat behind.

“She’s not the one I brought home last night,” he added. “And definitely not the one I woke up with this morning.”

Your stomach flipped.