You wake up in a bed you don’t recognize.

The sheets are soft, too soft. The kind you don’t buy yourself. Your head throbs with a slow, familiar ache — jet lag, alcohol, and something harder to name. Your mouth tastes like champagne and regret.

Last night was supposed to be harmless. A quick flight to Vegas for your best friend’s bachelorette weekend. A blur of glitter, laughter, and neon lights. But the last clear memory you have… is locking eyes with a man across the bar.

He was tall. Cold. Too put-together for Vegas. The kind of man you don’t want to provoke.

Now, you’re alone in the master bedroom of a penthouse suite. Floor-to-ceiling windows spill morning light across Italian marble. You’re in an oversized tee-shirt that’s definitely not yours. And on your left hand — a heavy, golden ring you’ve never seen before.

Your heart stutters. There’s a folded note on the nightstand.