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.

slid through her veins. "You're going

up, opened a news app, and saw her

taxi that screeched by and barked for the airport, certain only that Tudela was now a


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

the screen still bright from an earlier call. A new banner slid across the top-his

all this on the news? And

across Nicholas'

feed. In less than a minute, the answer stared back at him—his own face framed by

the phone. That woman-she's going

chasing the dull burn of liquor just to see if another woman's voice could drown out the only one he wanted. One stranger had sauntered over, all red

lips and practiced

up

but the

he froze. Desire never arrived, and nothing happened beyond an

phone and dialed his

seen the news?" Nicholas asked, voice


the headlines, and gulped. "Mr. Nicholas, I've seen it.

the person who leaked it," Nicholas

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