LOGIN***Emily Grayson's"***
It's been a week of me moping around in my apartment. I can't seem to stop these stupid tears. Throughout the days, Jack has been calling me nonstop and texting me—messages that I haven't even tried to read. Some messages are from Lexi, my best friend. I couldn't tell her what happened; Lexi had never been fond of Jack and my relationship. I don't think I can stomach the “I told you so” from her.
I called in sick at the firm where I work. I am a writer in a publishing company. I just hope I still have my job when I resume next week. I looked in the mirror: long brunette hair, a very short red dress, and black heels. I'm going out to drink and have a one-night stand; I’m losing my virginity tonight. With my mind made up, I walked out of my apartment and locked my door.
I hailed a taxi.
“The Antonio's club.”
Coming out of the cab, I walked into the club, heading to the bar.
“What can I get you?”
“Vodka, please.” Looking at the bartender,
He's handsome with brown eyes and jet-black hair, but he’s not my type.
"Could you bring me two more, please?" I called out to the bartender. “The bar guy said they’d be right up. I’ve had about three or four drinks already, and I’m starting to feel a little tipsy, but definitely not drunk yet!”
I could sense someone sitting next to me, but I decided not to glance over. A few guys had tried to strike up a conversation tonight, but I politely declined while I was busy reading a message from Lexi on my phone. Just then, a vodka was placed in front of me, and I took it and take a sip without looking up.
“What makes a beautiful lady like you hang out at a club full of bad people all alone?” he asked, which made me turn my head to look at him.
“Oh wow,” I thought—he was really handsome! Maybe he could be the one-night stand I needed.
“Are you a bad person?” I asked, noticing his steady gaze. Maybe I should just be straightforward and cut to the chase.
“Can we fuck?” I asked, then stood up from my seat and placed my right hand on his chest. He seemed to tremble slightly—maybe it was just in my head—before I could give him a kiss, he pulled back.
“Hey, hey, calm down. I think you might be drunk. I won't take advantage of you; I don’t even know your name.”
“I’m Emily… Emily Grayson,” I replied.
“Okay, Emily. I’m Alexander Antonio,” he said, extending his hand for a handshake.
“Alexander, I’ll get straight to the point: can we hook up?”
“And you say you’re not drunk,” he asked instead.
“I’m not, and if you’re not interested,” I said, turning to sit back down.
“Who said I’m not interested?” he interrupted. I turned toward him again. Leaning in, I wrapped my arms around his neck, and my pulse quickened being so close to him. His gray eyes were deep and intense, taking my breath away. I couldn't help but notice the tattoos that snaked up his neck, reaching all the way to his hairline—there was something oddly mesmerizing about them.
"Like what you see?" he whispered, cocking his brow.
I smashed my lips against his, kissing him hard, not giving him a second to adjust. I ripped my lips from his, gasping for breath as I looked at him. In the next moment, Alex smashed his lips back against mine and kissed me hard. The shock made me gasp; he forced my lips apart and then plundered my mouth, ripping a moan from me as he invaded me.
Kissing him was like something I had never experienced; it was brutal, wild, and raw, not passionate or even affectionate. He didn't give two fucks about sweet romance. He was harsh, as if he were punishing me for looking for a one-night stand. I knew my lips would be bruised after this; they would be showing for days, but I didn't care. Not even one bit. If harshness is what he wants, I will give it to him. I locked my hands around his skull and dragged my fingernails down his scalp. He then pressed my hips tighter against his own, letting me come in contact with his hard bulge. Heat exploded inside me, and I couldn't help but whisper again. I involuntarily rubbed my hips against him to feel more of him, to get that burning friction, but Alex didn't allow it. Releasing my lips from his, my hands desperately began to work their way to the front of Alex's suit.
“Fuck, not here. Let's get a room. I have one here?”
“Okay.”
EMILY GRAYSON'S The carnival grew livelier as the evening wore on. Music drifted through the crowded streets while laughter echoed from every direction. The scent of roasted nuts, grilled seafood, and sweet pastries filled the warm night air. Strings of golden lights hung above the narrow pathways, casting everything in a warm glow. Hand in hand, Alex and I wandered deeper into the festival. At least, that was the plan. The reality was that I kept getting distracted every twenty seconds."Emily." "What?" "You stopped walking again." I pointed excitedly toward a small stall displaying dozens of hand-painted ceramic pieces. "They're beautiful." Alex glanced at the display. Then at me. Ten minutes later, the shop owner was wrapping two boxes. I stared."Alex." "Hm?" "You bought them." "Yes." "I was just looking." "I know." "Looking doesn't mean buying." His expression remained completely serious. "It does when you look at something for more than ten second
EMILY GRAYSON'S The narrow streets were glowing beneath strings of golden lights, music drifting through the warm night air as locals and tourists filled the town square. A small summer carnival had taken over part of the waterfront. Food stalls lined the streets, and musicians played traditional music near the harbor. Children ran between colorful lights while couples wandered hand in hand through the crowd. The entire place buzzed with energy, and I loved it. "Alex, look." I pointed toward a game booth where someone was attempting—and failing—to win an oversized stuffed octopus. Alex glanced over, then back at me. "I am." I rolled my eyes. "You're impossible." "So I've heard." His hand settled against my lower back as we continued walking through the carnival together. The scent of grilled food drifted through the air. Laughter echoed around us. Somewhere nearby, a live band began playing. For once, nobody recognized Alex. Nobody cared who he was. Nobody interrupted us. We we
EMILY GRAYSON'S The rest of the afternoon passed far too quickly. The sun hung low over the water, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. The beach had grown quieter now, leaving behind only the gentle sound of waves and the occasional cry of distant seagulls. I stood near the shoreline, letting the cool water wash over my feet. The ocean stretched endlessly before me. Beautiful.m Peaceful. Infinite. For a moment, I simply stood there. Thinking. Not about the past. Not about Declan. Not about everything we'd survived. Just about now. About how strange it felt to finally be happy without constantly waiting for something to ruin it.A familiar pair of arms wrapped around my waist from behind. Alex. Of course. I smiled immediately. "You know," I said, leaning back against him, "you really need to stop sneaking up on me." His lips brushed my temple. "No." "Why?" "I like it." I laughed softly. "That's not a real answer." "It's the only answer I have." T
EMILY GRAYSON'S The next morning, I woke to the sound of laughter. Not loud laughter. Not the kind Lexi usually produced when she was about to cause problems. Just soft voices drifting up from downstairs. I stretched beneath the sheets and blinked toward the bright Santorini sunlight pouring through the windows. For a moment, I simply lay there, listening to the waves, feeling the warmth of the sun, enjoying the peace. Then I noticed something: the space beside me was empty. Again.I narrowed my eyes. "Suspicious."Alex had disappeared. Again. At this point, I was beginning to think the man naturally woke up three hours before the rest of humanity. After getting dressed, I headed downstairs. The moment I entered the kitchen, Teresa smiled."Good morning dear.""Morning." Paola was already eating breakfast. Sergio sat across from her, trying very hard not to look at her. Again. Poor man. At this point, everyone would know Sergio liked Paola because I knew he wanted to keep it a sec
EMILY GRAYSON'S The afternoon drifted by far too quickly. One moment we were wandering through the narrow streets of Santorini. The sun had begun its slow descent toward the horizon. The island seemed to transform as evening approached. The white buildings glowed golden beneath the fading sunlight. The sea shimmered like molten glass. Every restaurant and café was filled with people gathering to watch the famous sunset. Apparently, half the island had the exact same idea, including me. I stopped near a viewpoint overlooking the caldera. The view stretched endlessly before us: the cliffs, the sea, the whitewashed buildings cascading down the hillside. It looked unreal, like someone had painted it. My fingers tightened around my phone as I took another picture, and another, and another. Alex watched me with quiet amusement. "You have approximately seven hundred photos already." I gasped. "That's an exaggeration." "You took forty-three pictures of the same church." "It was a beautif
EMILY GRAYSON'SThe next morning, I woke slowly. Warm, golden sunlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting soft patterns across the white sheets and marble floors. For several seconds, I simply lay there, listening to the distant crash of waves against the cliffs below, the soft rustle of curtains dancing in the sea breeze, and the quiet stillness of the villa. It was peaceful. Not the fragile kind that vanished the moment you opened your eyes. Not the kind that came with conditions. Real peace. A smile touched my lips. Then I felt an arm tighten around my waist. I looked down.Alex. Still asleep. Or pretending to be. Honestly, with him, it was impossible to tell. His face looked relaxed against the pillow, dark hair slightly messy from sleep. One arm was wrapped securely around me, possessively, protectively. As though even unconscious, some part of him refused to let me wander too far away. The sight alone warmed my chest. Carefully, I reached up and brushed my f
EMILY GRAYSON'S For one horrible second, I forgot how to breathe. He stood several feet away with his hands tucked calmly into the pockets of his dark coat, watching me through the mirror as if this were an ordinary conversation. Like he hadn’t tortured me. Like he hadn’t destroyed my life. Slowl
EMILY GRAYSON'S The next morning felt normal. Sunlight streamed through the towering windows of the mansion, spilling across the marble floors in long ribbons of gold and stretching warmth into the endless hallways. The house was quieter today. Most of the decorations from the party had already be
ALEXANDER ANTONIO'S “This place feels different now,” Emily said. I understood exactly what she meant, because it felt different to me too. Like grief had settled itself quietly into the walls, like the house remembered what happened here. I pushed myself away from the doorway and walked tow
ALEXANDER ANTONIO'S..The drive back to my mansion felt different this time. Not tense. Not frantic. Not filled with the suffocating fear that had haunted every second of the last eight days. Just quiet. A calm, careful kind of quiet. Emily sat beside me in the passenger seat, her gaze fixed on the







