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Midnight was the deadline. There would be no extensions, no negotiations. I told my driver—if she’s not outside by then, you leave. I didn’t know what would come next.

At eleven fifty-seven, he called.

“She’s getting in the car,” he said.

I hung up.

I didn’t move right away. I sat at the edge of my bed, phone still in my hand, lights low. I stared toward the hotel door, counting down the minutes until she walked in.

Miyori was different. I could feel it in the way she looked at me. Like she didn’t care about what I had, only what I could take.

I had only seen her picture, talked to her once for half a minute on the phone before she walked into my office, but there was a part of me already—a small but loud part—that didn’t just want to fuck her.

I wanted to ruin her. Break her open and make her useless to other men.

And I couldn’t, for the life of me, understand why.

Maybe because she wasn’t scared of me the way she should be.

Her knock came at twelve twenty. My heart sped up, banging against my rib cage like it was trying to break free.

I hadn’t expected her to show up, even after the driver said she was in the car.

Most women in this city would’ve jumped at the offer.

Not her. She had looked at me like I was a man she could hate even without provocation, even before I told her what I wanted.

She didn’t beg. She didn’t cry either. I thought she would at least try again to get me to change my mind and do things her way. But she just—

I liked that.

I opened the door myself.

She was in black tights and a plain black top. No makeup, no heels. But she smelled divine. I wondered if she’d taste as sweet. Her arms were folded like she was holding herself together—or back from slapping me.

“Come in,” I said.

She hesitated, then stepped inside.

I closed the door behind her and locked it.

She turned around slowly, eyes scanning the space. I watched her. I didn’t speak. I wanted to see if she’d say something first.

She didn’t. She stayed near the door.

“You want a drink?” I asked.

She shook her head.

I nodded. “Alright.” I made my way over to the bed and sat down.

I leaned back to watch her. “You don’t have to pretend this doesn’t bother you.”

“I’m not pretending anything,” she said. “It’s just sex. Fucking. It means nothing. It’s just skin and sweat. I’ll forget it even happened.”

I could tell by the look in her eyes it wasn’t that simple. If it was, she would have never needed time to think. I wanted to ask her who she was trying to convince—me or herself.

But I let it go.

She came forward slowly and sat beside me.

“I’m here. We doing this or not?” she asked.

I looked at her for a long moment. Then I reached out and touched her wrist. Her skin was warm, soft. She didn’t pull away.

I leaned in slowly, letting the heat of my breath hit her neck before I spoke.

“I’ll make sure you never forget it,” I whispered, voice low against her ear. “You’re gonna remember every second of this. ”

Then I sank my teeth into the curve of her shoulder—hard enough to mark her.

“You’ll dream about my mouth on you. And hate yourself for it.”

She gasped, body going rigid for half a second. Her breath hitched, her hand flying to her shoulder.

I pulled back just enough to see her face.

Her eyes were wild. Caught between rage and lust.

Good. I liked that too.

“Why in the fuck did you bite me?” she glared at me.

I smiled, slow and unapologetic. I liked her fire.

“Because I fucking wanted to.”

My thumb brushed the fresh mark on her skin, the way her breath caught making my chest tighten.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” I asked, fingers slipping up her thigh slow and deliberate, pausing at the hem of her top.

“You’re shaking.”

“Fuck you,” she whispered, but her pulse jumped under my fingertips when I dragged them down her arm.