LOGINElena The faint smell of fresh espresso and toasted garlic floats through the heavy mahogany door, dragging me out of the deepest, most undisturbed sleep I’ve had in months. I blink against the bright morning sun cutting across the king-sized bed. For a second, I’m disoriented, until the dull, unmistakable throb between my thighs reminds me of last night in my head. A slow, involuntary smile pulls at my lips as my face flushes hot. Last night was amazing, the way he looked at me like I was something to be conquered, then thoroughly ruined. I roll over, reaching out a hand, but my fingers meet only crisp linen. The other side of the bed is made—not just empty, but looking as though it wasn't even slept in. The realization stings, a sharp little prick of reality that deflates the morning haze. Right, I remind myself, sitting up and drawing my knees to my chest. This was just sex. Brilliant, mind-shattering sex, but just sex. Beyond that, the heavy gold band on my left hand sudden
Jaxon The heavy oak front door clicks shut, sealing the humid Manhattan night out and locking the two of us inside the quiet luxury of my brownstone. I shed my suit jacket, tossing it over the baneter, before turning my full attention to Elena. She stands in the dim foyer, looking around with wide, expressive eyes that take in the high ceilings."Can I get you something to drink?" I ask, my voice smooth, pitch-perfect. "Wine, perhaps?""Wine sounds perfect, Jaxon," she murmurs, stepping further into the light. She reaches for the zipper of her heavy winter coat, sliding it down. "Your house is beautiful. It looks exactly like you—meticulous… dark.”"I'll take that as a compliment," I reply with a low chuckle, stepping into the kitchen to pour two glasses of a deep, velvety Barolo.When I walk back into the living room and hand her the crystal glass, my breath catches slightly. Without her coat, her curves are on full display, hugged tightly by a ribbed knit dress that accentuates
Elena “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage our next showcase. An exclusive preview of emerging and returning talent in contemporary design and fashion. Put your hands together as we continue tonight’s show!”The applause from the other side of that curtain sounds like a different world entirely.I’m standing backstage in a slip of fabric that qualifies as a corset set. Deep wine red, boned through the waist, Maya’s own design — with my arms folded across my stomach and my eyes doing a full sweep of every model in this room. There are maybe fifteen of us back here. All of them, every single one look like they were assembled specifically for this. Long legs, cheekbones that look like they could cut glass, the kind of walk-ready posture that looks effortless but takes years.There are plus size girls here too. Beautiful ones. Bold, radiant, completely at home in themselves and their bodies.And still somehow, looking at every single one of them, I feel like I showed up
Elena A subtle knock on my door jolts me from my thoughts immediately. I barely have time to think of who it might be, before assuming it’s a maid and going to open the door. I’m surprised when I find Marcus at the other end. A frown makes its way on to my face instantly. “How can I help you?” I ask, standing by the door and refusing to let him in. “Can we talk, please? Inside.” He asks. I hesitate. Whatever he has to say, he can say it here. It’s his fault we’re leaving like this. A married couple sleeping in separate rooms because the husband couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. Maya was right. I really should get these people out of my house. I honestly have no idea why I hesitate every time I think about it. It’s not money. I have money. From my inheritance. Even the amount I had saved up from when I used to model. I’d be more than fine if Marcus and I get a divorce. So, why the hell haven’t I filed for one? “We can talk here. Make it fast.” “I’d prefer not to
Elena Maya shows up at twelve-fifteen, same as always, two bags of takeout swinging from her wrist and that look on her face that means she already knows something’s up before I’ve said a word. “Thai or the salad place,” she says, dropping into the chair across from my desk. “I got both because I couldn’t decide for you.” “You never decide for me. You just bring both.” “It’s called options, Elena.” She slides the Thai container across the desk because she knows it’s the one I actually want. “Now eat and talk. You’ve got that face.” “What face?” “The face.” She points a fork at me. “The one that says something happened and you’re trying to figure out how to bring it up without me losing my mind.” I don’t even try to deny it. I tell her. All of it. Maya’s chopsticks freeze halfway to her mouth. “He stopped?” “He stopped.” “On purpose?” “Mhmm,” I murmur my mouth full. “On purpose.” I stab at my noodles, more annoyed than I want to admit. “I went home and I was so —” I search
Jaxon Elena walked in wearing green. Not the kind of green that disappears into a room — deep, fitted. Whether she meant it or not, every time that door opened, I looked forward to see what she was wearing and my whole chest tightens every time like someone had cinched a belt around it. I didn’t say anything about it. I didn’t say anything about Saturday either. I was scared she’d admit she didn’t mean it if I brought it up. I couldn’t afford for that to be true. Not yet.She sat down across from me the way she always did, knees together, hands twisting at each other, restless. I noticed. I notice everything. You don’t survive as long as I have in this life by missing the small things.“So, um.” She cleared her throat. “How does this work?”“How does what work, Elena?” She looked up at me. “You and I.”“Well.” I leaned back in my chair, unhurried. “First off, if this is going to work, we’re going to need some ground rules.”“Rules?” Her brows pulled together.“Yes.” I kept it s
ElenaMy laptop has been open for two hours and I’ve written approximately four sentences worth keeping. It’s a Saturday, which used to mean something in this house. Breakfast together. Errands. The particular quiet of a weekend morning that felt like ours. Now it just means I’m working from the c
Elena The office air-conditioning was humming a low, sterile tune that usually helped me focus on the grant proposals piling up on my desk. But today, the hum felt like a drill. My head throbbed with the ghost of last night’s silence, the kind of silence that Marcus used to suffocate me until I a
Elena The house felt like a museum after hours—cold, silent, and smelling faintly of the lemon wax I’d used to scrub away every trace of the previous night’s failure. I had spent the day in a trance of domestic penance. I’d gone to the market, selected the most expensive cut of sea bass, and pre
Elena The clock on the mantle was a custom piece—brushed gold, silent, and excruciatingly precise. I had watched the minute hand sweep across the dial for three hours, three minutes, and twelve seconds. I sat at the head of the dining table, my spine perfectly straight, the way my mother had t







