The night had been wild, reckless, unforgettable. Mark didn’t plan on staying, but her laugh, her eyes, the way she leaned in—it pulled him in. Drinks spilled, dares whispered, and by the end, they were tangled together, reckless and breathless. Mark swore he wouldn’t see her again. Just a one-time thing. Simple. Done.

Morning came too fast. The hangover was real, the apartment messy, and Mark left before the sun fully rose, still muttering about how he never got himself into these situations. He told himself he’d forget her.

The precinct smelled like coffee and paper, fluorescent lights glaring down, when Mark stepped inside. He barely lifted his eyes—until he saw her.

Leaning against the wall, hair messy, smirk faint but unmistakable. Casual, confident, dangerous. His pulse jumped. Something in his stomach tightened. And then it clicked.

She was Daniels’ daughter. His boss’s daughter. The girl from the bar. The one he’d just fucked.

Mark froze, coffee halfway to his mouth. “Of course,” he muttered, bitter humor hiding panic. “Of course this would happen.”

She caught his gaze, smirk widening, playful, teasing. Every brush of memory—the laugh, the touch, the night—they suddenly carried weight. Tension. Danger. Excitement.

He forced a casual tone. “Morning,” he said, voice rough, trying to act normal. She tilted her head, amused. Every instinct screamed at him: run, curse, or laugh. Maybe all three.

Rules blurred. Careers threatened. But she was there. Untouchable. Irresistible. And Mark knew one thing: this was far from over.