CHAPTER 2

The city was still draped in quiet gold when Melody slipped from the warmth of the penthouse suite. Her heels were in her hands, her clutch pressed against her side, and her heart... unsteady. The soft click of the door behind her sounded far too final for something that had never truly begun. She didn’t look back. No goodbye. No note. No familiarity. That was the rule last night, mutual anonymity, no strings, no regret. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself with every silent step down the plush hallway. The hotel corridor was lit with a warm light, hushed in a way only luxury could afford. Melody’s black dress was wrinkled at the hem, the zipper slightly off-kilter. Her lipstick had faded, her curls were looser than when she arrived. But her spine was straight, her chin lifted. She had walked in bold. And she would leave the same way. Behind the heavy double doors, the man remained asleep, still sprawled across a bed that now felt far too large, far too intimate. His breathing was steady, his body tangled in sheets that carried the print of her hands, her mouth, her memory. She didn’t know who he was. She got a name but barely remembered it now. And he hadn’t asked to know more except her name. It had been a night of indulgence. No expectations. No consequences. Or so she thought. A few floors down, Fiona Peltz, Melody's sister, tipped the room service tray with one hand and lifted her coffee cup with the other. She leaned against the small balcony rail of her suite, her silk robe fluttering at her thighs, the espresso sharp against her tongue. Then she saw her. Melody. Barely disguised in yesterday’s designer gown, slipping out of the elevator and heading for the private exit. Fiona’s brows rose ever so slightly. Her half-sister looked... wrecked in the way only a night of sex could do. Not sloppy, Melody was too tightly wound for that, but undeniably undone. And where, exactly, had she come from? Fiona stepped back into her suite, mind already spinning. She pulled her phone from the pocket of her robe and tapped into the hotel’s guest directory—restricted to VIP guests, of course, and discreetly available to those who knew how to request it. Only two penthouses had been booked last night. One was hers. The other— She smirked. That one had been paid for in full under an anonymous title. No paper trail. No company charge. Just a single, unidentified reservation… for someone who clearly had something to hide. Fiona set her cup down. Slipped on her heels. And headed upstairs. The door was slightly ajar. Fiona blinked, then smiled to herself. Amateur. She pushed it open a little wider, stepping into the luxury suite like it belonged to her. The air inside was warm, tinged with the scent of sex and sandalwood. One of the sconces still glowed faintly by the bar, casting a muted gold across the room. Her eyes swept over the mess—two empty flutes, a black dress flung over the chaise, a single cufflink on the carpet. And then her gaze landed on the bed. There he was. Asleep. Broad shoulders. Long limbs. Dark hair mussed from fingers that clearly weren’t his own. His face was turned slightly to the side, lips parted, lashes fanned across high cheekbones. And completely, blissfully unaware. Fiona’s pulse quickened—not with desire. She was curious. Curious to know, who was this man her sister had left so quietly? Ethan Lennox. No Fucking way. Fiona almost chocked when the unmistakable profile of the most wealthy man stirs, threatening to wake up from the crazy dream. “No way Melody slept with him. Wait, did she know who he’s? ” In a split second, Fiona made up her mind. She could not let Melody have this, have HIM! What had happened didn’t matter. What Melody thought didn’t matter. What mattered was what she’s going to show him. And what would he believe… if he woke to her instead? She moved through the room slowly, deliberately, letting her robe fall open just enough to hint at bare skin underneath. She slid out of her slippers, one by one. Then, with practiced ease, Fiona lifted the edge of the sheet and slipped into the bed beside him. His heat enveloped her immediately, the scent of cologne and skin melting into the linens. She adjusted the sheet, draping it across her hips, letting her shoulder remain bare. She watched him. He didn’t stir. Good. Her fingers ghosted over his chest, not touching, just close enough that when he woke, it would feel like she’d always been there. She tilted her head and whispered softly, as if talking to him in sleep. "Mmm. You wore me out last night..." A lie, of course. But then, lies were Fiona’s currency. And she spent them lavishly. She nestled in closer, her lips inches from his ear, her presence subtle but undeniable. When he woke, dazed and slow, she would already be smiling. And he’d have no reason to question the story she was about to tell.