SARAH

I needed this. Heavens knew I did.

I wanted to get lost—lost in the music, lost in the lights, lost in the chaos—anything to drown out the mess of emotions swirling inside me. With everything going on in my life, I deserved this freedom. I deserved to close my eyes and let each thumping beat of the club consume my mind.

I didn’t even care if I looked like I was on something. Let them think whatever they wanted. I needed this. I needed to sway my hips for myself and no one else.

But, of course, the men in here thought otherwise.

Every so often, some guy assumed my dancing was an open invitation, pressing up behind me like I owed him something.

Thank God I knew how to angle my knee just right, even in the dim lighting.

Sam and I danced together for a while, moving freely between the shifting bodies, until I nudged her toward the bar. Adam had been there all night, watching her like a hawk. She kept pretending not to notice, but we both knew she did.

It reminded me of the way he used to look at me.

I swallowed hard.

I shouldn't be thinking about him. The whole reason I came here was to forget he even existed. I needed to stick to that.

Former Sarah would be proud of my method.

After a few more songs, Sam finally caved. “I’ll be back,” she called over the music, leaning in to whisper, “Sharing my location with you now, just in case.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re acting like Adam’s a serial killer.”

She smirked. “You never know.”

With that, she made her way to the bar, and I smirked to myself, already knowing exactly what she planned to do to him.

I let out a breath, shaking off the thoughts creeping into my mind. I wasn’t here to overthink—I was here to feel. To let the bass drown everything else out.

The music shifted into something slower but still deep, vibrating through the floor and into my chest. My body moved with it, hips swaying, arms lifting just enough to let myself sink into the rhythm.

No stress. No regrets. Just me and the music.

But then, a prickling sensation ran down my spine.

A feeling.

The kind that made the tiny hairs on my arms stand up.

Someone was watching me.

I cracked my eyes open, half-lidded, trying not to make it obvious as I glanced around. Nothing but strangers, bodies moving in chaotic harmony, no one paying attention—

Except him.

My breath caught.

He stood at a distance, partially shrouded in shadows, but I knew that stance anywhere. Knew the intensity of that gaze.

Damn it.

I forced myself to keep moving, pretending I didn’t see him, pretending my pulse hadn’t just kicked into overdrive.

Why was he here? How did he even find me?

And why did my stomach flip at the sight of him?

I clenched my jaw, willing myself to focus. I wasn’t going to let him ruin this for me.

Not tonight so instead I turned my back to him.

I didn’t care if he saw me. Let him stand there and stare—I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

But something told me he wasn’t just watching. He was moving.

Heading straight for me.

My heartbeat stuttered, but I refused to let it show. Instead, I did the only thing I could do—I danced my way deeper into the crowd, letting the pulsing bodies swallow me whole.

The heat of the club pressed against my skin, the thick scent of sweat and alcohol clinging to the air. I moved fast, my body swaying with the music, slipping between people effortlessly.

But then—

A hand.

Rough. Unfamiliar.

Fingers wrapped around my waist, pulling me back, and the rancid scent of too much liquor filled my nose.

I nearly gagged.

I should’ve pushed him away, should’ve shoved his arm off me and made it clear I wasn’t his to touch—but I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Not with him watching.

I wouldn’t give Chris the satisfaction of seeing me look vulnerable.

So I went with the flow, pretending like I didn’t mind, like I wasn’t internally screaming at the disgusting breath fanning against my neck.

I had to get away from both of them.

The man’s grip tightened on my waist, his fingers pressing in like he owned me. His breath—thick with alcohol and bad decisions—fanned against my ear as he muttered, "Damn, you smell good."

Disgust coiled in my stomach.

I felt him shift, pressing closer, and then—God—I felt it.

The disgusting grind of his hips against me.

That was it.

I clenched my jaw, preparing to snap my head back into his nose, already imagining the satisfying crack it would make. My knee was ready to follow—straight between his legs—just to make sure he never tried this shit again.

But before I could even move, something shifted in the air.

A presence.

I knew who it was without needing to turn around.

He was behind me.

I could feel him there, radiating heat and fury, a storm waiting to break.

Chris.

Probably fucking pissed that someone dared to touch me.

The drunk man barely had a second to process what was happening before his body was gone.

Ripped from mine.

I felt the force of it—the way he was shoved away, stumbling back so hard that he nearly crashed into another group of people.

I knew I should’ve used the opportunity to leave.

Chris had just sent that drunk idiot flying—his attention was probably still on him. I could’ve slipped away, disappeared into the crowd, and ended this before it even started.

But I hesitated.

And that hesitation cost me.

Before I could move, Chris caught up to me.

My breath seized as his arm snaked around my waist, pulling me flush against him. The heat of his body burned through the thin material of my dress, and my pulse hammered in my ears.

"You smell like him." His voice was low, rough, the words grazing my skin as his lips brushed against my earlobe.

I shivered.

The music still pounded around us, fast and chaotic, but between us—time slowed. Every movement, every touch, stretched out, deliberate.

Chris swayed with me, guiding my body to move with his, ignoring the frantic beat of the song and creating a rhythm of his own.

"Why did you come here, love?"

His hand traveled upward, fingertips ghosting over my shoulder, down my arm, until his fingers intertwined with mine.

He raised my hand, guiding it to the nape of his neck.

And then he inhaled.

Slow, deep—like he was trying to pull my scent into him, past the alcohol and sweat that clung to my skin.

"Did you come so that you could be touched by the men here, hmm?"

No.

I didn’t want that.

Not their hands. Not their attention.

But his?

His nose traced my neck, and then—his teeth.

A soft, deliberate bite right on my sweet spot.

I gasped, my grip on him tightening as a rush of heat spread through my core.

And then my hips moved.

I wasn’t thinking—I was only feeling.

Heat coiled low in my stomach as I pressed back against him, grinding against the hardness I felt beneath his clothes.

Chris let out a deep, guttural groan.

His grip on me tightened, his fingers digging into my waist as if he was trying to restrain himself.

"Sarah," he warned, voice strained.

But I didn’t stop.

Didn’t want to stop.

I was too lost.

His grip on my waist tightened, fingers pressing in like he was trying to leave his mark on me. My breath hitched as his other hand—slow, teasing—traced a path down my thigh.

Lower.

And then higher.

I shuddered as his fingertips skimmed the inside of my leg, circling just close enough to where I ached for him, but not quite.

He knew what he was doing.

The bastard always knew.

"You like this, don’t you?" he murmured, lips grazing the shell of my ear. "Is it because of me? Or were you hoping one of those pathetic men would touch you like this?"

I whimpered, my nails digging into the back of his neck.

"No answer?" He tsked, his thumb dragging along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. "I think you like being touched like this. Just not by them. Isn't that right?"

I hated how my body reacted to him. How just his voice, just his touch, could make heat pool deep in my core.

His hand slid higher.

"Tell me, sweetheart," he breathed, "did you come here looking for someone to fuck you?"

His fingers hovered, barely a whisper against my skin, but it was enough.

I felt myself clench around nothing, a soft, desperate sound leaving my lips.

Chris groaned, pressing himself harder against me.

"So sensitive, love."

His lips skimmed the shell of my ear, his breath warm, deliberate.

"If I slip my fingers inside you right now… would you be wet for me?"

My body clenched at his words, my core pulsing with need.

God.

Chris groaned when my hips rocked back against him, the friction making us both shudder.

"You’re burning up for me, aren’t you?"

His fingers ghosted closer to where I needed them, but he didn’t give in.

Not yet.

"Tell me, love." His hand flexed on my thigh, teasing, promising. "Do you want me to make you fall apart right here?"

Heat coiled deep in my belly, spreading through my veins like wildfire.

I was going insane.

Chris’s touch—his words—had me teetering on the edge, so close to shattering right there, in the middle of the crowded club.

I wanted it.

God, I wanted it.

The music was deafening, pounding through the walls, through my bones, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the sinful promises in his voice.

"I could make you come with just my fingers, right here, love. No one would even notice. You’d be dripping for me, trembling against my hand—"

A desperate sound clawed up my throat.

I was this close to screaming yes just so he’d hear me over the pounding music.

No one was looking at us.

No one cared.

Everyone was too busy grinding against each other, lost in their own drunken haze, while Chris had me in his—trapping me between his body and the heat of his touch.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

Knew how to pull me apart, how to take me to the edge and drag me into paradise with nothing but those thick, knowing fingers.

My breath came in sharp gasps, my head tilting back against his shoulder as his hand inched closer—

No.

The reminder hit me like ice water.

I wasn’t here for this.

I was here to forget him.

Not fall right back into his grasp.

Before he could touch me more, I ripped myself away, moving so fast I nearly stumbled.

I didn’t look back.

I couldn’t.

If I did, I’d get lost again.

So I kept moving, pushing through the bodies slick with sweat, my pulse racing, my skin still burning from his touch.

I heard something—maybe my name, maybe his voice cutting through the music—but I didn’t stop.

I wouldn’t stop.

I needed to get out.

The cold air slapped against my heated skin as I stepped outside, my breath coming in shallow gasps. I managed to get away.

I needed to keep moving.

My legs carried me forward in quick strides, my mind still racing with the feeling of Chris’s hands on me, his breath against my ear, the way I had nearly let myself fall apart right there in the middle of the club.

Shaking it off, I reached into my purse, fumbling for my phone. I needed to call Sam—tell her I was leaving, that I’d see her later.

But just as my fingers curled around the device, it was snatched from my grip.

Before I could react, a rough hand grabbed my arm, yanking me into a dark corner. My back hit the cold brick wall, a gasp barely escaping my lips before a hand clamped over my mouth.

My heartbeat slammed against my ribs.

What the—

“Heard you came back today.”

A smirking voice.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

“Welcome.”

My body went rigid.

That voice.

I know that voice.

“I kinda missed you.”

A hand touched my face, fingers gripping my cheeks together, forcing my gaze up.

My stomach twisted.

No.

Not him.

Matthew.

Of course, I had to end up in this situation. Of course, my past had to creep back up on me at the worst possible time.

He watched me with amusement, his grip tightening just enough to make me uncomfortable. “Did you miss me?”

I swallowed hard, mind scrambling for a way out.

Matthew—one of my past clients.

Months ago, he had paid me to be his fake girlfriend for a wedding gathering. Turns out he never actually needed one.

Turns out he had been watching me long before that, noticing me when I was with another client.

Turns out all he really wanted was to own me.

He had offered me almost a million dollars to sleep with him.

But I wasn’t stupid.

I saw the cameras in his room.

I knew exactly what he was trying to do.

And I wasn’t about to let myself get blackmailed.

I was too broke for that.

My heart pounded so hard it hurt. My mind raced, trying to think of a way out.

I could kick him—right between the legs—and run. I could—

Something cold and sharp pressed against my stomach.

I froze.

My breath caught in my throat, my body locking in place as I forced myself to look down.

A knife.

The dim light from the streetlamp flickered against the blade, reflecting off the jagged edge.

Matthew smirked. “Oh, sweetheart, I came prepared.”

A sickening chill crawled down my spine.

“I’ve been watching you, you know,” he mused, tilting his head. “Your apartment. For weeks. Just waiting for the right moment.”

Oh, God.

This wasn’t just some twisted coincidence. This was planned.

His fingers tightened on my arm. “And tonight,” he whispered, dragging the cold edge of the knife along my side, “my patience finally paid off.”

I wanted to scream.

Run.

Fight.

Do something.

But fear had its claws in me, holding me captive.

I barely registered the sound of his belt unbuckling until I saw his hand move, fingers working the leather strap free.

“You know,” he murmured, licking his lips, “it’ll be quick. You just have to be a good girl, let me have a taste, and I’ll leave you alone.”

My stomach twisted in disgust.

I couldn’t even think.

Tears? No. That would only make it worse. Make him hungrier for it.

So all I did was pray.

Pray that it would be over fast.

Pray that someone—anyone—would come.

Where was Chris?

I thought he’d follow me.

Guess he got tired of my stupid behavior.

Guess he went back inside.

I wished I could turn back time—just two minutes. If I had known this was how the night would end, I would’ve stayed. Would’ve let myself sink into Chris’s arms, let him drown me in his touch.

But this was it.

This was where my dignity ended.

CRACK.

A sickening sound shattered the air.

"FUCK!"

Matthew's body hit the ground with a brutal thud, his knife skidding across the pavement.

My breath came in sharp gasps as my wide eyes landed on him.

Chris.

He was here.

He didn’t leave.

He followed me.

And he was furious.

Before I could even process it, he was on Matthew, straddling him, fists flying with raw, unhinged force.

"Did you bloody touch her?!"

His foot slammed into Matthew’s stomach, wrenching a gutting scream from him.

Another blow.

Matthew’s body jerked with the impact.

Chris wasn’t stopping.

"Did. You. Touch. My. Woman?"

Each word punctuated by a vicious hit, his knuckles stained with blood, his breath ragged and wild.

Even in the darkness, I could feel his rage. It radiated off him in waves, suffocating the air, coiling tighter and tighter.

And I knew—

If I didn’t do something, Chris was going to kill him.

Chris’s fist connected with Matthew’s face again, a sickening crunch echoing in the alley. Blood smeared across his knuckles, but he didn’t stop.

“I’ll fucking teach you a lesson,” he growled, his voice raw with fury. “You’ll never lay your hands on a woman again—especially mine.”

Matthew groaned beneath him, barely conscious, but Chris was too far gone to notice. His rage was like a storm—raging, untamed, and merciless.

"Chris!"

He didn’t hear me.

I took a step forward. "Chris, stop!"

Nothing.

He reared his arm back for another punch.

I rushed to him, my hands flying to his face, cupping it as I forced him to look at me.

"Chris," I whispered, my thumbs brushing over his bloodied skin. "I'm okay."

But the heavy, ragged breaths pouring out of him told me he didn’t believe that. His hands were still trembling, fingers twitching like they ached for more violence.

"He’s not worth it," I whispered, thumb brushing over the tension in his jaw.

His eyes burned into mine, dark and storming. "He touched you."

I shook my head. “I’m okay.”

His eyes burned into mine, dark and storming. "He touched you."

"I'm okay." I shook my head, willing him to see it. "He didn’t—he tried, but I'm okay."

Chris exhaled sharply, his hand still fisted in Matthew’s shirt. "How the hell are you so calm about this?"

I smiled, small but real. "Because you came."

His entire body stilled.

I saw the way it hit him—sank into him.

"You came, Chris." I said it again, softer this time, letting the words settle between us.

And in that moment, I realized—

I’d been fighting this for too long. Fighting him.

For what?

He was here. He always came.

I was stupid.

So stupid.

A breathless laugh slipped past my lips, and before he could press further, before I could second-guess myself, I rose onto my tiptoes and kissed him.

His lips felt incredible. Warm, firm, yet soft enough to make me shiver. They parted for me, and I could feel his shock against my mouth—the way his breath paused, the split-second hesitation before his tongue brushed against mine. Then, just as quickly, he melted into it, his shoulders slumped as though surrendering to the moment, to me, and when I finally pulled away, I let my gaze find his.

His eyes.

They held me captive—deep pools of emotion I could drown in. Confusion flickered first, chased by something softer, something unbearably tender. And then, beneath it all, a quiet hunger—a spark of want that sent heat curling through me. He looked at me like I was something unexpected, something he hadn’t realized he needed until now.

My breath felt unsteady, my pulse wild, but I forced a small smile.

"Let's go back, Chris," I whispered, though my body felt anything but ready to step away from him.