Lie.
But I let it stand. For now.
We both knew this wasn't just one night. We both knew we'd been here before.
The question was when she'd finally admit it.
And what she'd been hiding since that night in Miami.
CHAPTER 8
Isla
Iwoke to unfamiliar sheets and the disorienting realization that I wasn't in my own bed.
Sunlight filtered through floor-to-ceiling windows, bright despite the gray October sky outside. Manhattan stretched out below—Central Park's trees ablaze with autumn colors, the reservoir glinting in the distance. I inhaled the faint scent of expensive cologne on the pillow beside me. For one disorienting moment, I thought I was still in that Miami hotel room—before reality crashed in.
Cassian's penthouse. His bed. His sheets tangled around my naked body.
Again.
The digital clock on his nightstand read 6:17 a.m. No sign of him in the room, though I could hear water running somewhere in the apartment. I sat up, pressing my palms against my eyes as memoriesfrom last night flooded back—his hands on my skin, his mouth against mine, the way he'd whispered things that made me forget every reason this was a terrible idea.
I'd done it again. Fallen into bed with a man who didn't even know my real name the first time around.
Except now he did. Now he was my boss. Now there was Leo.
Leo.
Panic shot through me. I'd told Maya I might be late, but I hadn't planned on spending the night. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand—three texts from Maya assuring me Leo was fine, had gone to sleep easily, and that I should "enjoy myself for once."
If only she knew.
I slipped from the bed, gathering my scattered clothing with practiced efficiency. The burgundy silk dress felt like a costume now, rumpled and out of place in the harsh morning light. I stepped into it quickly, not bothering with the zipper. My underwear was nowhere to be found.
The water shut off. I froze, listening for footsteps.
This was exactly how it had happened before. Waking alone, gathering my things, the crushing weight of shame and regret pressing down on me.
Moving silently through the apartment, I located my clutch and shoes near the front door. The penthouse was minimalist, expensive, and impersonal—no photographs, no mementos, nothing that revealed the man behind the wealth. Just like the hotel suite in Miami.
My hand was on the doorknob when I heard his voice.
"Leaving without saying goodbye?"
I turned slowly. Cassian stood in the hallway, a towel slung low around his hips, water droplets still clinging to his chest. The scar above his lip seemed more pronounced in the morning light.
"I have to go," I said, hating how small my voice sounded.
His eyes narrowed slightly. "You're running."
"I'm being practical. This was a mistake."
"Was it?" He took a step toward me. "Because it didn't feel like a mistake when you were saying my name last night."
Heat flooded my cheeks. "We work together. This complicates things."
"I don't mix business with pleasure as a rule," he said, closing the distance between us. "But rules can be broken for the right reasons."
