Page 20

I just want to be with you.

—V

My throat tightens, and I blink back the sudden sting of tears.

I just want to be with you.

No one has ever said that to me before. Not like this. Not with this kind of quiet intensity that makes me feel seen and wanted and terrifyingly vulnerable.

I type back quickly, before I can overthink it.

Friday at 9. I'll be there.

—Ivy

His response is immediate.

I'll be counting the hours.

I set my phone down and lie back against my pillows, my pulse still racing, my body already anticipating Friday night.

I tell myself this is the last time.

I tell myself I can walk away after this.

I tell myself I'm in control.

But deep down, I know I'm lying.

Friday night arrives with the weight of inevitability.

I stand in front of the mirror in Suite 1204 at the Grand Sovereign Hotel, adjusting my mask and smoothing down the fabric of my dress. It's different from the green wrap dress I wore last time—this one is deep burgundy, fitted, with a neckline that shows just enough cleavage to make me feel bold.

I look at my reflection and barely recognize myself.

My long dark brown hair is loose around my shoulders, my lips are painted dark red, and the mask covers the upper half of my face in delicate black lace. I look like someone who belongs in a luxury hotel suite, waiting for a masked stranger.

I look like someone who knows what she wants.

The knock at the door comes at exactly nine o'clock.

I take a breath, cross the room, and open the door without hesitation.

Vanguard stands in the hallway, tall and broad-shouldered, his mask in place, his dark eyes locked on mine. He's wearing a different suit this time—charcoal gray, perfectly tailored, with a black shirt underneath. He looks powerful and controlled and absolutely devastating.

"Ivy," he says, his voice low and rough.

"Vanguard," I reply, and step back to let him in.

He enters the suite and closes the door behind him, his gaze never leaving my face. The air between us crackles with tension, anticipation, and something deeper that I don't want to name.

"You look beautiful," he says quietly.

"Thank you," I manage, my voice steadier than last time.

He moves closer, stopping just in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. His hand comes up to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing over my lower lip. "I've been thinking about you all week."

My breath catches. "I've been thinking about you too."