Inside a suite lit by one lone lamp, Nicholas lounged half upright on the edge of the mattress, shirt open at the collar, eyes cold as winter glass.

A woman knelt on the carpet, mascara running through fresh bruises. She hugged her torn coat to her trembling shoulders.

"M-Mr. Nicholas... please, just let me go," she sobbed.

He regarded her with bored detachment, as though she were part of the décor.

"Everything that happened tonight stays buried," he said, voice flat, almost sleepy. The woman blinked, then bobbed her head so fast it blurred. "Yes."

"You may leave."

She scrambled up, snatched her purse, and fled toward the hallway light that promised escape.

Out in the corridor, she pressed against the wall, heart in her throat. She had walked in dreaming of a golden future, only to discover the fabled heir was as unreachable as a statue and twice as cold.

Fear crawled over greed. Earlier she had paid a photographer to catch them together once alcohol had softened his guard.

She dialed frantically. "Delete the shots. Do not upload anything ever!"

"Too late. I already blasted them to every outlet," the voice replied.

through her veins. "You're

app, and saw

and barked for the airport, certain only that Tudela was


him, eyes aimed at nothing, as if the night itself

his phone, the screen still bright from an earlier call. A new banner slid

on the news? And who

crease cut across Nicholas' brow.

opened a headline app, thumb skating down the feed. In less than a minute, the answer stared back at him—his

phone. That woman-she's going

into a bar, chasing the dull burn of liquor just to see if another woman's voice could drown out the only one he wanted. One stranger

lips and practiced

wound up

the

filled the room, he froze. Desire never arrived, and nothing happened beyond an awkward silence broken by his apology.

phone and dialed

news?" Nicholas asked,


man jerked awake, scroll-checked the headlines, and gulped. "Mr.

with the person who leaked it," Nicholas

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