Kerwin’s POV

I should’ve figured it out the moment I saw her on that stage.

That fire behind the mask. The way she moved—half fury, half invitation. It burned into my mind like a flashbulb: thighs wrapped in velvet, hair pinned like a secret, lips that didn’t even have to part to make a man forget his name.

I’d stood there that night, drink untouched, heart pounding against my shirt, trying to make sense of the low ache winding through my gut. She didn’t ...