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-POV Derby
The message came at 9:47 PM and killed two years in ten seconds. I think you deserve to know. Three cold sentences from a girl I’d never met. Rian had been fucking her for eight months. Eight months of him coming home late, smiling at his phone, telling me “it’s just work” while I kept convincing myself the cracks in us were normal. I wasn’t stupid. I’d seen the signs. I just chose not to name them, because naming them meant admitting I was the second choice again. Story of my life. My mom used to look exhausted every time I needed too much from people. With Rian, things were supposed to feel stable. Somewhere along the way, stable turned into me disappearing right in front of him. I read the message three times. Then I typed one word — Okay. — and hit send before I could delete it and replace it with something uglier. I wasn’t going to cry in the apartment that still smelled like his cologne. If I stayed there any longer, I was going to fall apart for real. So I grabbed my leather jacket — the one he always hated — and walked out into the night. I didn’t want to get drunk and forget. I wanted to feel something sharp enough to cut through the numbness. The first drink burned clean — that I could still choose. That someone could still choose me, even if it was only for one night. The bar was three blocks away. I pushed the door open and ordered whatever was strongest. The first drink burned clean. By the second drink, the words slipped out before I could stop them. “He cheated.” The words sounded ugly the second they left my mouth. He was sitting two stools away. Not loud. Not pretending to be busy. Just… still. The kind of still that made everyone around him lower their volume without realizing it. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, calm, but there was an edge underneath it — his voice stayed calm, but there was something underneath it that made me sit up straighter without meaning to. “How long did you know something was wrong?” I answered him way too easily after that. I told him everything in fragments. When the bartender came back with his refill, the guy actually hesitated for half a second before setting the glass down — like even the bartender could tell he wasn’t the kind of man people interrupted casually. He didn’t offer pity. He didn’t judge. He simply said, quiet and sure, “That’s the door finally closing.” That should’ve been the moment I walked away. Instead, I stayed. For the first time in two years, He looked at me like I wasn’t hard to deal with. He didn’t try to fix me. He just stayed — calm, steady, like my broken pieces didn’t scare him at all. I told myself it was the alcohol. The pain. The revenge I needed against Rian. The worst part was how badly I wanted him to keep looking at me like that. I wanted to be chosen — even if it meant choosing the wrong thing. Even if it destroyed me. So when he stood up and left cash on the bar without counting it, I followed. When the elevator rose and he stood close enough that I could smell that clean woodsy scent, I didn’t step back. When he waited one beat at his door, giving me the out I hadn’t asked for, I still walked in. Because for once I wasn’t the one being left behind. For once, I wasn’t waiting for someone to leave first. That night his hands were slow, deliberate. He touched me like he had all the time in the world and like he wasn’t in a hurry to get past me. At one point he paused right before pushing inside me — eyes locked on mine, completely still — like he wanted me completely awake for what was about to happen. Then he moved, deep and controlled, setting a slow rhythm that pulled every sound out of me before I could hold it back. He watched every reaction like he was memorizing it, like he understood this was already becoming more complicated than it should’ve been. For a few stolen hours, I let myself drown in it. In the weight of his body, the heat of his skin, the way he finished my broken sentences with his mouth on mine. I let myself believe I was enough and let myself believe I was chosen. And for one reckless, beautiful, stupid night… I was. Until morning came. For the moment I opened my eyes, I felt it — that quiet, creeping unease. Like leaving would be harder than walking in had been. Like this wasn’t the end of the mistake. It was only the beginning. End of Chapter 1-POV DerbyMorning light was relentless, cutting through the gap in the curtains to hit Derby square in the face. She didn’t move. She just stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the silence in the room. This wasn't the first time she’d woken up in a space that wasn't hers, but it felt different. The air was heavier. Jordan was already up. He was standing by the window, shirt half-buttoned, watching the city wake up below. He didn’t turn around when she sat up, but she knew he heard the sheets rustle. They both knew the game had changed. Pretending this was just a mistake—just another night to forget—was no longer an option. "You're awake," he said. His voice was steady, lacking the usual polish he used in boardrooms. It was raw. Derby pulled the duvet tighter around herself, her fingers tracing the fabric. "I should go." Jordan turned then. He didn't rush toward her; he just leaned against the frame, his gaze uncomfortably sharp. He wasn't the man who had let her walk away
-POV Derby Derby stood by the window, her knuckles white as she gripped the fabric of her skirt, refusing to look at the man who had just dismantled the final remnants of her composure. Jordan hadn’t moved from the door. He didn't need to. His presence alone seemed to occupy every cubic inch of the space, pinning her in place. The casual, detached mask he usually wore was gone, replaced by something much more dangerous—a raw, unfiltered focus that made her skin prickle. "You're not answering," he repeated, his voice low and devoid of the polished veneer he saved for investors and the press. It was just the two of them, and for the first time, he sounded like a man who had finally run out of patience. Derby forced a swallow past the lump in her throat, her gaze still fixed on the horizon, not the man she’d spent the last few weeks trying to convince herself was a mistake. "Because there’s nothing left to say, Jordan. We crossed the line. Again. And we both know exactly what that ma
-POV Derby Silence in the room wasn't empty; it was heavy, pressing against Derby’s chest until every breath felt like a conscious effort. Jordan stood just a few feet away, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him, but the distance between them felt like a canyon. He hadn’t moved when she tried to pull away. His grip on her wrist remained firm—not bruising, but immovable. It was a silent assertion of his presence, a refusal to let her frame this as a fleeting moment that meant nothing. Derby kept her gaze fixed on the sharp line of his collarbone, refusing to meet his eyes. If she looked at him, she knew the resolve she had spent the last hour meticulously building would crumble. She felt the ghost of his touch where he held her, a sensory anchor that made it impossible to pretend she was anywhere else. "You're not answering," he said. His voice was low, stripped of any polite veneer, vibrating with a raw, demanding edge. "There’s nothing to answer, Jordan,"
-POV Derby Breathing was a luxury I couldn't quite afford as we broke apart. My forehead rested against his, both of us heaving in the quiet, climate-controlled air of the office. The storm outside had slowed to a rhythmic tapping against the glass, an indifferent backdrop to the wreckage we were making of the room—and each other. Jordan’s hands were still locked firmly onto my waist, his thumbs digging into the fabric of my blazer as if he were trying to memorize the exact shape of me. His eyes were dark, dilated, searching my face with a terrifyingly naked need that I hadn't expected to see on a man like him. "Derby," he murmured, his voice sounding raw, like he’d been shouting in a desert. I couldn't look away. My pulse was a frantic bird against the cage of my ribs. Everything I’d been holding back for the last few months—the late nights, the jealousy, the slow, agonizing realization that I was falling for a ghost of a man who belonged to someone else—it all felt like it was
-POV Derby Rain still hammered against the glass, but inside the suite, the air felt like it was ionizing, crackling with a static charge that made the hair on my arms stand up. Jordan hadn't moved his hands. They remained framed against my jaw, his palms warm and grounding, holding me in place while my heart hammered against my ribs like a caged bird. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice dropping to that low, raspy register that bypassed my brain and went straight to my nerves. I kept my eyes fixed on his throat, on the pulse point that was beating in time with mine. "I can't." Jordan said "Why?" "Because if I look at you," I whispered, the words catching on a jagged breath, "I’ll forget why I’m supposed to be angry. I’ll forget that you’re someone else’s future. I’ll forget that this room is just a temporary shelter for a mistake." He shifted, his fingers sliding into my hair, tugging gently until I was forced to tilt my head back. His eyes were dark, devoid of the cold, prof
-POV DerbyRain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling glass of the forty-second-floor suite, turning the city lights into a blurred, weeping mess of neon. Standing in the center of the dark room, I stared at the reflection of the office in the window. The space felt colder tonight, or maybe that was just the hollow ache that had settled in my chest since the media brief in the courtyard.My bags were packed. They were sitting by the service elevator in my apartment, a half-finished resignation letter waiting on my laptop. I had come here to give him the final audit logs—the last of the data, the last of the project, the last of the excuses."You’re late," Jordan said.He wasn't sitting at his desk. He was standing by the heavy mahogany door, his coat damp, his hair slightly messed up by the wind. He hadn't turned the main lights on, leaving us in the dim, amber glow of the emergency exit signs and the flickering city below."I don't need to be on time anymore," I replied, my voice stea
-POV Derby Life went back to normal faster than I wanted it to. Work gave me plenty of excuses to stay busy. Somehow I still managed to build my entire week around not ending up anywhere near the tenth floor. Avoiding him turned out to be surprisingly easy. Pretending I wasn’t thinking about
-POV Derby Somewhere below us, the gala was still going on. People were probably laughing, networking, making deals, completely unaware of what had happened upstairs. The problem was that I wasn’t sure I could go back downstairs pretending nothing had changed. Neither of us moved right away.
-POV Derby I didn’t expect to see him again so soon. But two days later, at the annual company gala, Jordan Vasquez walked into the ballroom with the kind of presence that made conversations pause mid-sentence. Judging by the way half the room turned toward the entrance, I wasn’t the only one
-POV Derby I didn’t leave his penthouse that night. After everything that had happened between us that night, leaving stopped feeling as simple as walking out the door. We lay there in silence, his arm still around my waist, and for once neither of us seemed interested in breaking it. Somew







