Then, as if something had just clicked in his mind, he casually raised his hand and pushed his glasses up from the bridge of his nose. While straightening his jacket, he added calmly, "Tell her to wait a bit before coming in."

Seeing that, I bent down to pick up the pen and notebook that had fallen to the floor. With a calm expression, I stepped around Matthew and headed for the door.

Matthew grabbed my wrist. "Kay, be good. Go home and wait for me."

I glanced at him with indifference, said nothing, and walked out the door.

Juliana Romano—Luca's sister, and soon to be my aunt. The heiress of the Romano family.

She always tried to cozy up to me because Matthew liked me, though she never missed a chance to tease me about my makeup.

We ran right into each other in the hallway.

She took one look at my tear-streaked face and let out an exaggerated "Ohhh," then pointed a manicured finger at me. "So you're the 'ugly freak' my brother keeps whining about? Kay, seriously, stop using cheap makeup. It's wrecking your face. I'll send you a better set in a few days."

"Sounds great. Thanks in advance, Aunt Julie."

I nodded sweetly, predending to be obedient and grateful.

Then I walked away. Let the lovebirds play house. No point in me sticking around to be the third wheel.

But I'd only made it a few steps when—

Damn it.

My phone charm—the tiny silver reindeer, a Christmas trinket—was still sitting on Matthew's desk.

It was the only thing my mom ever left me.

I drew in a deep breath and turned back.

The office door was ajar, just slightly.

As I approached, I heard soft, muffled sounds—intimate sounds—a woman's breathy moaning, barely restrained.

My heart dropped.

Like something took over me, I leaned closer and peeked through the crack in the door.

Matthew's broad hand was sliding boldly down Juliana's curve-hugging dress, tracing every line of her body.

Then, without hesitation, he slipped his hand under the hem of her skirt.

"Matt, don't..."

Juliana tilted her head back, her voice breathy and flirtatious.

One hand rested on Matthew's shoulder in a half-hearted push, while the other smoothly removed his delicate gold-rimmed glasses.

"You're so impatient," she giggled, "Go shower first."

Matthew let out a low, raspy chuckle, his voice thick with lust as he breathed hot against her ear, "We'll go together."

And then—RIPPP—

The sharp sound of fabric tearing sliced through the silence. He'd yanked her designer dress clean in half.

Bare skin flashed before my eyes, and my pupils shrank in shock.

Nausea punched me in the gut. I couldn't keep watching. I couldn't even breathe.

I reached up and gently pulled the door shut, my hand shaking.

Then, like I was escaping a nightmare, I turned and bolted, nearly tripping over my own feet as I made a beeline for the elevator.

The doors opened. I dove inside and started frantically pressing the "close" button.

Only when I was safely descending—far from that penthouse—did I allow myself to lean against the cold elevator wall, gasping for breath.

I reached the lobby just in time to bump into Sasha, freshly off her shift.

She was dressed to kill—tight red dress, bright red designer purse, and heels that clicked sharply against the marble with every confident step.

"Well, well, Kay."

She lit up when she saw me.

I pulled the still-warm stack of cash from my jacket pocket—two thousand dollars in crisp bills—and handed it to her.

"Sasha, here's the bonus I owed you for this month. Two grand. We're square."

Sasha took the money without hesitation, gave it a quick count with practiced fingers, and her smile grew even wider.

Then she leaned in, red lips practically brushing my ear, voice hushed and dripping with mischief.

"Kay, my little darling, did you just... try to sweet-talk Boss Everett?"

Her tone was heavy with implication.

"You know those clueless girls stuck in The Black Room? They're all hoping you'll come save them. You're really gonna just leave them hanging?"

I let out a bitter laugh.

"I’m just an average drink seller, Sasha. I'm not a saint. You know how Boss Everett is—he doesn't give a damn what I say."

"You won't know unless you try," she said, eyes glinting. "Boss Everett treats you different, and you know it."

"There's no 'different,'" I snapped.

I stared at her, hesitated, then said, "I might have a way to help them. But I'm not doing it for free. Mr. Romano's turning seventy soon—can you get me into the birthday party?"

Sasha's brows knitted. "What're you trying to pull?"

"I want to make money," I said, hand raised like I was swearing an oath. "Big money. I'll follow your lead, Sasha. No drama, I promise."

I might not be the best at selling drinks, but I'm obedient, and I can sing pretty well too.

If I make money, Sasha gets a cut too.

She thought it over, then nodded.

"Fine. Get those girls out of The Black Room, and I'll get you in. Easy."

"Thank you, Sasha!"

Finally, a crack of daylight. The tension in my chest loosened, and I swear my steps felt lighter.

...

Central Street was always buzzing.

I'd barely stepped outside when I spotted a crowd on the sidewalk, all craning their necks to gawk at a sleek black stretch Bentley Mulsanne.

I tiptoed to get a better view. The car was massive, fully armored to B7 spec—could withstand 33 pounds of TNT without flinching.

Anyone driving that wasn't just rich—they were dangerous, very dangerous.

I planned to avoid it altogether. Flashy cars like that only meant trouble.

Just then, the rear window lowered with a smooth hum. The man inside glanced lazily my way.

Mr. Hunter.

His gaze found me instantly, like a spotlight. Street neon spilled over his face in streaks of blue and pink, highlighting his features in dramatic flashes—half-shadowed, impossibly sharp, effortlessly magnetic.

"Get in."

A command. No room for argument.

I knew he was talking to me, but I acted like I didn't hear him.

Looking away, I turned on my heel and headed quickly toward Citrus Street, pulling out my phone to call a ride.

Before my finger could even touch the screen, the phone was yanked out of my hand from behind.

At the same time, something cold and hard pressed against the small of my back.

A gun.

My blood froze. I stood paralyzed, not daring to move.

From the shadows behind me, a man stepped forward.

His light brown eyes gleamed with a chilling sharpness under the streetlights. His face was handsome, almost deceptively so, but there was something off—a cruel twist in his expression that sent a shiver down my spine.

I felt like prey. Like something hungry and vile had locked eyes on me.

Then, one of Mr. Hunter's bodyguards leaned in close to my ear.

"Mr. Hunter told you to get in the car."