I roll my shoulders, stretching out the stiffness that’s settled between my shoulder blades. Too many late nights at the office. Too many hours hunched over contracts and negotiations, trying to stay ahead in a world where everyone’s waiting for to slip.
Too many damn dreams.
The elevator doors slide open, and Simone steps in beside , adjusting the rings on her fingers as she gives a sideways glance.
"You know," she muses, shifting her weight onto one foot, "I don’t usually tag along for your little business etings, but today?" She grins, eyes gleaming with amusent. "The Neta brothers? Yeah, I’m not missing that."
I don’t bother responding. Simone does whatever the hell she wants, and we both know it.
Besides, I get it.
The Neta brothers aren’t like most people in my world.Normally, everyone pisses off, I get so irritated in their presence for so reason.
It’s not personal—I just don’t trust anyone, I can’t trust anyone, sothing in just hates it.
But the Netas? They’re different.
We have the sa vision. The sa values.They’re investing in eco-friendly solutions, sustainable infrastructure, pushing to fix a world that’s actively dying, not because it’s profitable.
But because it matters.
It’s rare to find people like that—people who actually give a damn. Not that I’m a good person, hell no one who reaches this level of wealth is. While I might not care much for human lives, I’m passionate about nature and they are like that too, and best of all that uncomfortable feeling I get around most people is not present when I’m around them. They feel farmiliar.
So when Adrian called and told to et him at a café, I stopped everything.
Cleared my schedule.Canceled etings that would’ve taken weeks to reschedule.
We step out of the building, and from the corner of my eye, I see my bodyguards shift into motion. They’re good—silent, discreet, barely noticeable.
That’s why I hired them, I hate the attention walking around with n in black would give.Even now, I can feel the weight of the skyscraper behind , the countless stories of glass and steel pressing down on , I need a vacation preferably to a place with a lot of space and nature.
It’s a quiet place, nestled in a corner of New York that most people overlook.
A witch owns it.I don’t believe in the supernatural but there’s sothing about the place that calms . So it must be magic.
And right now, I need that.
Because sothing tells this eting isn’t just business.
*
The café is warm, the air thick with the scent of freshly brewed coffee, cinnamon, and sothing else—sothing earthy, almost primal. It clings to the air, grounding, familiar in a way I can’t quite explain.
But none of that matters.
Because the mont I step inside, I freeze.
At first, my attention lands on the Neta brothers, seated across from a pair I don’t recognize. The man with them has dark, curly hair, an easy smirk, and the kind of relaxed confidence that suggests he either knows exactly how to handle himself or has never needed to fight for anything in his life.
But it’s not him that stops . It’s her.
The woman sitting across from him, staring at as if she’s been waiting.
Sothing inside shifts violently,a pull so deep, so visceral, I nearly stumble from the force of it.
She’s real.She’s here.
And she’s stunning.
More than I rember, more than my mind could have possibly fabricated. It’s like my brain deliberately dulled her beauty in my dreams because the reality of her is overwhelming.
She looks up and our eyes et, I swear my heart stops and restarts.
The world narrows. The hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, the low indie music playing through the café’s speakers—all of it fades into nothing.
For a mont, it’s just her and , a slow inhale fills my lungs, but it does nothing to steady .
I don’t know how long I stand there, motionless, staring at her like so kind of idiot. Seconds? Minutes? Ti is aningless in this mont.
Then, suddenly, I feel a sharp pinch at my waist,the contact jolts back to reality.I blink, my mind snapping back into place as I tear my gaze away from her. Simone is watching , her dark eyes sharp, unreadable.
"Breathe," she mutters, barely moving her lips.
I exhale sharply. Turns out, everyone at the table is watching now.Heat rises to my neck, and I clear my throat, trying to regain so semblance of composure.
That’s when I hear it,a low, almost imperceptible growl.The sound is faint, just beneath the surface of normal human hearing, but it makes my entire body tense.Instinctively, my eyes flick around the café for a dog or sothing but there’s nothing.
I walk toward the table, but sothing feels off.Every instinct inside is screaming that I shouldn’t be here, that I won’t be the sa after this.That this is dangerous.That she is dangerous.
And yet—I don’t stop.I can’t.
As I approach, everyone at the table stands in acknowledgnt.Everyone except her,she stays seated, still watching , her expression calm, patient—expectant.
Sothing tightens in my chest.
Why does she look at like she knows ?
I hesitate, my hand twitching slightly at my side before I focus on Adrian.
"Uhm... Adrian?" My voice feels unnatural in my throat.
Adrian, ever composed, claps a hand on my shoulder.
"I’m sorry about calling you under false pretenses," he says smoothly, "but I’m not the one who needed to see you."
His gaze flicks to her, and I swear my pulse stutters violently.
"Do a favor and hear her out," he adds before tapping my shoulder once and walking away.
Just like that,no explanation, no further context.He’s leaving alone with her and suddenly, I have no idea what the hell to do.For the first ti in years, I feel completely untethered.
I want to run to escape, just as badly, I want to close the distance between us and kiss her until we can’t breathe.The conflicting urges are suffocating.
I inhale sharply, force down the whirlwind of emotions threatening to consu , and pull out the chair across from her.
I sit.
She watches .She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak imdiately.
Her storm-gray eyes stay locked onto mine, deep and endless, swirling with emotions I don’t understand.Sothing about them feels like ho.I don’t know why that thought terrifies , clearing my throat, trying to regain control of myself.
"Hello," I say cautiously. "You wanted to et ?"
My voice is calm. Controlled. Everything inside is the opposite.She doesn’t respond imdiately. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, studying .
Then, she speaks.
"Do you not recognize ?"
Her voice is everything.Low, soft, but filled with sothing I can’t na.I feel it like a physical thing, wrapping around my chest, tightening until I can barely breathe.
My jaw tenses. A strange heat is crawling down my spine, a pressure that’s becoming harder and harder to ignore.
And then—humiliation.
Because I feel it.
Low in my gut.
Tightening.
My pants suddenly feel too small, too restricting.
Am I—?
Panic shoots through .
I shift slightly in my seat, trying to subtly adjust, horrified by the completely inappropriate reaction my body is having.
What the hell is wrong with ?Why does she have this effect on ?
I force my expression into sothing neutral, hiding the war raging inside .
"Should I?" I ask carefully.
The mont the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve said the wrong thing. Her entire face changes.
Her lips part slightly, sothing flickering behind her eyes—sothing fragile, sothing breaking.
She blinks rapidly, and I realize too late that I’ve hurt her.
Badly.
I don’t understand it.
I don’t understand her, or this, or what the hell is happening.
f r\ee.c(o)(m)
But the mont I see the way her storm-gray eyes blink back unshed tears, sothing inside shifts.I want to take it back, I want to say sothing else and I want to reach for her, pull her against , promise her sothing I don’t even understand.
But I don’t move.
Because I’m terrified.
Terrified of what’s happening to .
Terrified of her.
Terrified of the fact that I’ve never in my life felt so completely out of control.
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