I pull my robe tighter around me and swallow hard as I make myself walk to the door.
"Hello?" My voice is barely more than a whisper. I clear my throat and try again. "Who is it?" I lft to my tiptoes to peek through the peephole, but all I can see is the broad expanse of a shirted chest.
There’s a short pause. Then a low voice, deep and smooth and controlled in a way that makes the edges of my nerves hum.
"Miss Boothe. It’s Adrik Korolyov, the hotel and casino owner. I’d like to speak with you."
The owner?
My hand freezes on the door handle. I’ve never met someone who owns a hotel and casino. I imagine someone old, stern, unhappy about the money I won. Maybe he wants to question me. Maybe he thinks I cheated. God, do people cheat at slot machines? Is that even possible?
But there’s something in the way he said my name. Not cold. Not angry. Certain. Like he already knows it belongs in his mouth.
A subtle wrongness rolls through me. Not threatening exactly, but weighty. Important. Impossible to ignore.
I crack the door open.
And the man standing there steals the rest of the air from my lungs.
He’s tall, so tall I have to tip my head back to meet his eyes. Broad shoulders straining against a dark grey suit thatprobably costs more than everything I’ve owned in my entire life combined. His hair is dark and perfectly styled, but not in a way that looks fussy. His jaw is sharp, lined with the faintest trace of dark stubble, like he didn’t bother shaving this morning.
But it’s his eyes that trap me.
Pale. Intense. Fixing on me with a focus I’ve never felt from anyone. Not even from Matthew, but then Matthew watched me like property, not like this. This man looks at me like he already knows how fragile I am. Like he’s memorised every bruise I’m trying to hide.
"Miss Boothe," he says again, softer this time, as if testing how it feels against my skin.
My throat goes dry.
"Yes," I manage, even though my voice wobbles. "Hi. I’m… is everything okay?"
His gaze sweeps over me in a slow, aching line that makes my stomach twist. Not sleazy. Not greedy. Something else entirely. Something that feels like heat sliding beneath my skin.
"I wanted to check on you," he says. "And to congratulate you on your win."
No casino owner checks on winners personally. That’s ridiculous. That’s impossible.
Unless this isn’t about the jackpot.
Unless this is about me.
An instinctual tremor runs through me, but not fear exactly. More like the shock of stepping out of a dark room into sudden sunlight. Too bright. Too much.
"I’m fine," I say quickly, even though my pulse is a mess. "Just surprised. I wasn’t expecting anyone."
He nods once, but his gaze doesn’t leave my face. "I wanted to make sure you were comfortable. These suites can be overwhelming if you’ve never stayed in one."
"I’ve never stayed anywhere like this," I admit before I can stop myself.
His expression changes. Barely. A softening that shouldn’t make my chest feel tight, but it does.
"May I?" he asks, gesturing toward the room.
My brain shoutsnobut I can’t make my mouth form the word.
I think about what Matthew would do if he found out I let another man into a hotel room with me.
But Matthew isn’t here. And something about this stranger’s presence is confusing in a way that intrigues me.
