There are things that should never happen after a night of drinking. Like eating kebabs from a food truck at three in the morning. Or calling your ex and confessing you still have his hoodie.

Or… my least favorite of all: sleeping with the husband you hate.

The Madrid sun slipped through half-drawn linen curtains, brushing against my cheek like a curse freshly delivered. I blinked. And the next second, froze.

This blanket was too heavy. And the body behind me…

Too solid. Too warm. And breathing.

And, God help me, pressed against me.

I turned slowly.

And in all the masculine glory I hadn’t asked for but remembered far too clearly from last night, Kaiden Alejandro de Domínguez slept peacefully. Naked.

His arm was wrapped around my waist like I was his personal body pillow. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, and that face… carved with the precision of a Greek god and cursed straight into my life.

I wanted to throw up.

Or pass out. But not before breaking something.

“Fuccck.”

The word slipped out, low and ragged, laced with regret.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I forced myself to peel my equally naked body, thank you very much, out of his grip. But Kai made a low sound in his sleep, like a massive dog annoyed at being disturbed, and his arm only pulled me closer.

“Kai. Let go of me.”

Nothing.

I wriggled backward, yanking the corner of the blanket and covering myself with the grace of a cockroach dodging a sandal. Then I stood.

First step? Dignified.

Second step? Nearly slipped, because my thighs still ached.

“Brilliant, Thalia. Just brilliant.”

I glared at the man still sleeping peacefully like last night’s disaster had been nothing more than a pleasant afternoon nap.

One night. One mistake. And of course, he didn’t look the least bit regretful.

My eyes betrayed me, flicking over his body. Shit. Even asleep he looked… tempting. Sharp jaw, long lashes, broad chest, and a blanket that had slipped far too low.

I snapped my gaze away. Fast.

Muttering under my breath, I grabbed a t-shirt and shorts from the closet and fled into the bathroom.

Perfect. Even the soap on my skin smelled like him.

By the time I walked back out.. hair messy, mood in hell, he was awake.

With that small smile. That infuriating sarcasm.

“You’re up early, for a woman who screamed my name twice last night.”

The pillow hit his face before I even thought twice.

He caught it easily, sitting up. Still naked. Brimming with that psychopath confidence that made me want to commit actual crimes.

“I was drunk.”

Kaiden grinned. “And very, very vocal.”

I scowled. “You think this is funny?”

He leaned back against the headboard, one arm behind his neck, the other tugging the blanket a little lower. “A little. And honestly, the morning view’s not bad either.”

His eyes drifted slowly over me. I was wearing his t-shirt, which only made it worse.

“Stop staring.”

“You’re the one wearing my shirt.”

“You forced me to sleep with you!”

Kaiden chuckled, deep and annoyingly sexy. “You climbed on top of me first, cariño.”

I jabbed a finger at him. “One more word and I’ll cut your tongue out.”

He stood. Without the blanket.

My eyes slammed shut. “Jesus Christ.”

“You already saw it last night,” he said lightly.

“Yeah, and I regret it to this day. Even my regrets have regrets.”

He strolled to the dresser, pulling on pajama pants with all the shameless ease in the world. Because of course. Kaiden could start a war crime and still look like a Marvel hero.

“This won’t happen again.”

He paused. That crooked smile tugged at his lips, the kind of smile that made women forget morals, religion, and basic survival instincts.

“You sure?”

My eyes narrowed. “Very.”

He leaned down, whispering against my ear. “That’s a shame. Because I want to hear you call me papi again. This time sober.”

My cheeks burned.

I spun on my heel, stormed out, stomped into the kitchen, yanked open the fridge with all the fury in the world.

“Asshole!”

From down the hall, his low laugh followed me.

XXXX

If someone had told me this morning that I would sleep with Kaiden Alejandro de Domínguez without the aid of narcotics, hypnosis, or holy oil straight from the Vatican, I would have laughed. Loud. Then spit on their shoes.

But I did it.

Sober.

Willing.

And God help me, I enjoyed it.

Now I was sitting in my office, one hand propping up my head, staring at my laptop with a blank expression and a sin clinging to my shoulders.

“…if he moves like that on top of every woman he hates,” I muttered under my breath, “no wonder his exes could fill my monthly grocery list.”

The mouse in my hand jerked across the screen. Zooming in, zooming out, over a luxury kitchen design for a client who wanted “something traditional but still modern with a breath of Balinese industrial minimalism.”

Whatever the hell that meant.

My assistant walked past behind me, paused. “Thal, are you ranting to your se—”

“If he shows up at my office door again, naked with that smug smile, I swear I will throw this blueprint at his face and sue him for vaginal trauma.”

A blink. “Okay. I’ll go grab coffee.”

“God, I hope he gets hit by a truck and his dick bends at a permanent right angle.” I sighed, opening a new window, trying to work, to focus, to stay professional. But my brain kept replaying last night like some pirated porn I couldn’t shut off.

The way his hips moved. The way he pulled my hair. The way he called me baby with an accent that could make a nun switch religions.

“Jesus Christ,” I whispered, slamming my fist softly against the desk.

My phone buzzed. Incoming call: Kai’s Mom.

Isabel Domínguez.

My blood evaporated instantly.

When his mother called, it was usually for one of two reasons:

To insult me in that soft, passive-aggressive way of hers.

To ask when we were filing for divorce so she could bleach the family name clean of the disgrace that was “the Latina forced into their bloodline.”

I answered. “Hello?”

“Thalia?” It wasn’t his mother. It was Kai’s sister. Jasmine. Her voice wasn’t its usual calm. It was uneven, shaky. And that tone… it made me sit up straight.

“What happened?”

“It’s… Kai… He…”

I shot to my feet. “what happen?”

She sobbed. “He was in a car accident. He’s in the hospital right now.”

For a moment, everything in my head went silent.

“A truck hit him from the side.… he hasn’t woken up yet. We’re at the hospital now. You should come.”

I don’t remember how my legs carried me into the elevator. Or how I grabbed my bag, my phone, and nearly knocked over the printer my assistant left on the edge of the desk yesterday.

All I knew was that five minutes later, I was standing at the curb, fingers shaking as I called for a taxi.

“Jesus,” I muttered, looking up at the sky. “Can I just… edit that prayer from earlier? I was kidding. Maybe. Kind of.”

A taxi pulled up. I slid inside.

“Hospital Montecristo. Fast. Take the South toll road,” I ordered, yanking on the seatbelt like I was signing a pact with the devil.

The driver nodded, and we sped off.

Madrid looked like an expensive painting smeared with mud. The sky was bright, but everything felt dull. Cars crawled like snails, and every sound was muffled, as if my head was wrapped in thick cotton the color of panic.

I wasn’t supposed to be this anxious. I wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

He wasn’t the love of my life. He wasn’t the man I dreamed a future with. He wasn’t even someone who cared if I ate lunch or choked on a chicken nugget.

He was just… Kaiden.

The husband I slept with in one night of sin. The husband I called an asshole at least seven times a day. The husband who—

God.

Don’t die, you bastard.

My fists clenched in my lap.

“He’ll be fine. He’s too arrogant to die. Even the Grim Reaper wouldn’t have the patience to deal with him,” I muttered. “But if he does survive, I hope his dick gets at least mildly damaged. Just enough to remind him not to stick it in anything that breathes.”

The taxi driver stared at me in the rearview mirror.

“I’m praying,” I said flatly. “Don’t interfere.”