Heat!.

Again!!.

Even after my shower, it clung to me—crawling over my skin in memories I couldn’t shake.

I braced my palms against the cool tile, steam curling around my hair, and tried to breathe through the ache twisting low in my belly.

Get a grip, Aria.

I wasn’t going to let one stranger’s stare undo me and the presence of a stalker too.

I wasn’t going to be that girl—the one who invented stories out of nothing.

And yet…

When I closed my eyes, I could see him.

Standing in the shadows of the bar.

Motionless.

Patient.

Watching.

I let out a rough breath, reaching for the soap as if routine could drown out the memory.

Maybe I’d imagined it. Maybe he hadn’t even been looking at me.

But deep down, I knew that was a lie.

*********

I got dressed quickly—black slacks, a soft gray sweater that hung a little loose on my frame. My hair was still damp against my shoulders, curling from the shower.

I glanced at the clock. Another hour before my shift.

Enough time to pretend everything was normal.

I didn’t hear Vanessa come in until her perfume announced her first—some expensive floral blend that always made me feel like a little girl playing dress-up.

“Aria?” Her voice floated down the hallway, sweet and sharp all at once.

I shut my eyes for a moment, gathering patience, before I turned to face her.

She was already leaning against the doorframe, arms folded under her chest.

She looked…unfairly beautiful.

Her hair was a polished cascade of golden waves, her makeup immaculate—just enough to look effortless, but I knew it had taken her over an hour.

The dress she wore clung to every perfect curve—deep emerald silk that shimmered under the hallway light.

Vanessa Monroe didn’t step out of the apartment unless she was prepared to kill with her look.

I swallowed.

“You’re up early,” I said, trying to keep my tone light.

Her eyes flicked over me,taking in my plain sweater, my damp hair, my bare face.

Something sharp and satisfied glimmered there before she pasted on her practiced smile.

“Can we talk?”

That was Vanessa code for: I need something.

I leaned back against my dress up mirror,folding my arms to mirror her.

“About?”

She pushed away from the door and walked toward me in slow, measured steps—like a cat circling prey it wasn’t sure would run.

The hem of her dress brushed her knees, revealing flashes of smooth skin and delicate heels that probably cost more than my rent.

“Don’t look so suspicious,” she said, voice soft and teasing. “I just…need a little favor.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“A favor.”

Her smile widened, but her eyes didn’t warm.

“Yes.” She sighed dramatically, as if the world had been terribly unfair to her lately. “I’ve been working so hard to get this man’s attention, and I’m so close. But…he won’t even look at me.”

I waited, my stomach tightening.

Vanessa wanting a man wasn’t new. Vanessa wanting my help to get a man was.

“And you think I can…help you with that?”

Her manicured fingers tapped the desk as she studied me.

“You have a way of making people let their guard down,” she said finally. “You’re…inoffensive. Soft. Harmless. Let’s not forget that you still have that slut side in you”

The words hit like tiny needles—dressed up as a compliment, but I heard the truth under them.

Forgettable.

I clenched my jaw.

“So what, exactly, do you want me to do?”

She smiled, bright and triumphant.

“To talk to him. Swoon a little. Make him feel important. Just…soften him up so he’ll be more receptive when I approach him later.”

I stared at her.

“You want me to flirt with a man so you can…what? Trap him into proposing?”

Her expression didn’t waver.

“You know how these things work, Aria. Some of us don’t have the luxury of waiting for love to fall into our laps.”

I swallowed, my mouth dry.

“Who is he?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she reached into her bag—a sleek leather purse I knew she’d saved up for months to buy—and pulled out a glossy magazine.

She tossed it onto the desk in front of me.

The cover blared in elegant font:

Billionaire Seeks Wife: Damien Blackwood’s Unexpected Search for a Bride…

My breath caught.

The man in the photo was devastatingly handsome in that cold, arrogant way that made women stupid.

Sharp cheekbones, a mouth made for breaking hearts, dark hair that fell across his brow in a way that looked careless but probably wasn’t.

But it wasn’t any of those things that made my lungs seize.

It was his eyes.

Ice-pale. Unblinking.

Watching.

I didn’t realize I’d taken a step back until my hip bumped the desk behind me.

Vanessa tilted her head, studying my reaction with faint curiosity.

“Have you heard of him?”

My throat worked, but no sound came out.

I forced myself to look down at the article.

Damien Blackwood, CEO of Blackwood International, is rumored to be seeking a wife to secure his inheritance. Sources say the billionaire is already considering candidates…

Inheritance.

Money.

Power.

That was all Vanessa saw when she looked at the photo.

But I saw something else.

I saw the stranger in the bar—the man who hadn’t moved as I’d served drinks and tried to pretend I couldn’t feel his stare crawling over my skin.

It couldn’t be him.

It couldn’t be.

“Aria?” Vanessa’s voice snapped me back. “Are you listening?”

I swallowed, fighting to keep my face neutral.

“You…want me to flirt with him?”

Vanessa’s smile sharpened, just a little.

“I want you to get his attention. That’s all. I’ll handle the rest.”

She said it like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Like she hadn’t just asked me to step into the path of something I didn’t understand.

I looked back down at the magazine, my heart hammering so hard it hurt.

Those eyes.

I’d felt them in the bar and in my garden—steady and patient, never blinking.

Like he already knew me.

Like he was waiting for me to figure it out.

“Aria?” Vanessa’s tone turned impatient. “Well?”

I forced myself to look up.

Her pretty face was expectant, her lips already forming her next argument if I dared to say no.

I tried to find the right words—some excuse, some lie that would get me out of this.

But all I could think about was the way my skin had prickled under that gaze.

The way I’d felt like prey.

And the terrible certainty settling in my bones, even before I spoke.

This wasn’t over.

It had only just begun.