Simone Brooks stood stiffly beside Phoenix Robinson, forcing a composed smile as she faced a table full of unfamiliar men who all seemed to be sizing her up. A prickle of discomfort crawled right up her spine.

"Hey, Phoenix, Simone's here! Come on, sit. We've been waiting on you guys," called a sharp-featured young man, about Phoenix's age.

Simone recognized him instantly. Drew Hawthorne had been Phoenix's college buddy. They'd made plans to move out here together after graduation, but Phoenix bailed at the last minute, and Drew went it alone—reportedly crushing it.

Drew steered them to their seats, and as Simone swept her gaze around the room, she locked eyes with a pair of icy dark ones. The man lifted an eyebrow slightly before looking away, like she wasn't worth the stare.

Phoenix apologized to the table, "Sorry we're late. Got stuck on the road. I'll grab three coffees later to make it up."

Everyone chuckled, waving it off like no big deal.

Drew pulled out a chair for Simone and, glancing at her outfit, asked, "Simone, you cold? Need a blanket or something?"

She waved a hand. "No thanks, I'm good."

A strange, prickling weight settled on her, and she flicked a glance at Houston Martinez just as he lifted his mug, his gaze sliding away from her legs. He took a slow, casual sip of his coffee. Wrapped in her coat, most people probably wouldn't have noticed, but Houston definitely knew—she was wearing the exact same thing she'd worn when she knocked on his hotel room door last night.

A hot wave of mortification washed over Simone.

Once seated, she realized Houston was right next to her; that crisp, masculine scent mixed with the faint smoke of his rare-brand cigars drifted over, dragging back memories she'd rather not have pop up here.

Drew poured Phoenix a drink and ribbed him, "Early flight, but you roll in late. Did you sneak in some alone time with Simone or what?"

Phoenix's eyes darted uneasily. "What're you talking about? Our luggage took forever, and traffic was a beast. We haven't seen each other in ages, but I can get sweet with my girlfriend anytime. Why make a fuss?"

"For real?" Drew's face was all exaggerated disbelief. "You both look like you lost a fight. Especially Simone—she looked like she's struggling to walk straight."

Phoenix turned to check out Simone's legs at that, and she tugged her coat tighter, smiling a little too brightly. "Yeah, it's a bit chilly."

Simone's nerves were cut short when someone across the table pulled Phoenix's attention away. "You two are cracking everybody up. One looks completely wrecked, and the other just plain frustrated."

It was obvious the first dig was playing off Drew's jab at Phoenix, while the second was aimed dead at Houston. Every eye swiveled to Houston, who stayed stone-faced, calmly tipping back his coffee.

Phoenix laughed, shooting Houston a look. "My uncle here has been 'unsatisfied' since forever. I've never seen him with a woman. If any of you know some killer single ladies, hook him up. The family's been on his case hard."

"Hey, Houston, sounds like your nephew doesn't know you at all. Tell him about your conquests—your list of women is taller than the Alps," another friend joked.

Houston didn't flinch. He replied flatly between sips, "Is there no food here to keep your mouth busy?"

Simone bit her lip to hold back a laugh, some of the tension in her shoulders loosening.

"But seriously," some other guy added, "last night, I heard a woman in your room, Houston. She was loud, too. I thought I was dreaming some wild crap. It went on from maybe nine till two or three in the morning before it got quiet. Made the night feel like a year."

Simone's head dipped lower. Nine o'clock was exactly when she'd walked into Houston's room.

Simone Brooks had used the excuse of insomnia to ask Houston Martinez for a glass of wine, and after she'd downed it, they'd ended up doing something that went on and off for hours. She couldn't quite recall when it finally stopped, but she guessed it was around the time someone had mentioned earlier.

At the mention of it, the table erupted in lively chatter. Phoenix Robinson's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I always thought Uncle wasn't into women, so I kept my distance all these years."

He'd cleverly defended Houston, affirming the man's interest in women while casually explaining why they'd kept their distance.

Houston set his coffee cup down with a deliberate clink, curling his lip. "Truth is, I do find women bothersome—they're expensive." He put extra weight on the last word, his gaze flicking briefly to Simone.

"So what? Last night's lady was on the house?" one of the friends laughed.

Without missing a beat, Houston raised an eyebrow. "Strictly speaking, she was the one who hired me."

"Ooh!" The group couldn't hold back. "Where was she from? How'd she hire you? What did she look like?"

Houston ignored most of the questions.

Then another buddy chimed in, "Since it was free, would you introduce her to us? We haven't had fun like that in ages."

Simone choked on her coffee, coughing.

Houston dropped the bite of pasta he'd been about to eat, then lifted his gaze casually. "This pasta isn't that great. I'll take you somewhere better next time."

Though his words seemed to be about the pasta, everyone caught the drift. If the flavor was so disappointing, he sure had savored it for hours last night.

Phoenix chuckled, adding, "If the flavor's not great and you still indulged for hours, imagine what a better dish would do—you might stay all night." He cracked the joke while draping an arm around Simone's shoulders, completely oblivious that he was poking fun right at her expense.

Houston had zero desire to keep the topic going. He swept a cold glance around the table. "Are we eating or leaving?"

Simone felt like she was sitting on pins and needles. She pushed Phoenix's arm away and stood up. "I'm going to the restroom."

Once she was out of the private dining room, Simone could finally breathe. Another minute in there and she might have suffocated.

She headed toward the restroom, pulling out her phone to text her friend Haisley Gutierrez about the absurdity of sitting commando at a table full of men.

Haisley must have been busy because she didn't reply right away.

Simone sent a voice message. "Do you think there's a chance Houston has some weird kink, like keeping his partners' underwear? How else would mine go missing in such a tiny space?"

Right after she sent it, Haisley's message popped up: "I think you should go buy a pair of underwear right now."

A light bulb went off in Simone's head.

She shut her phone and stepped out—the restaurant was conveniently located in a mall, which meant there had to be a place selling underwear nearby.

But as she exited the restroom, there was Houston, dressed in black and white, casually leaning against the entrance railing and leisurely smoking a cigarette.

Beneath the glow of the massive crystal chandelier, his broad shoulders and narrow waist were thrown into sharp relief, making him appear even more striking.

Simone froze, wanting to duck back, but Houston spotted her immediately.

This time, his gaze didn't waver. He watched her as if he'd been waiting for her to come over and say hello.

Simone forced a smile and walked over, blurting, "What a coincidence, Uncle Houston. Taking a smoke break too?"

The instant the words left her mouth, she realized how ridiculous they sounded. Smoking too? What did she mean, 'too'?

A spark of interest lit up Houston's calm eyes. "Not a coincidence. I was waiting for you."

Simone was thrown. "Waiting for me? Why?"

Houston stubbed out his cigarette, flicking it precisely into the trash bin opposite, and with hands in his pockets, he loomed over her. "Why are you still wearing last night's clothes?"

She'd expected that question. Simone pretended to pout. "What else could I do? I left my room key in your room. Couldn't get back to change."

Houston's eyes narrowed. "So?"

He nodded toward her legs. "Is that why you went out in neutral gear?"

Simone Brooks went pale, her eyes widening in shock. "How did you find out?"

Houston Martinez scowled, digging into his pocket to fish out a small parcel and practically shoving it into her coat pocket. "Put it on," he snapped, a thread of irritation fraying his voice.

Simone slipped her hand into her pocket, her fingers brushing against the fabric. When she realized what it was, her breath caught, disbelief flooding her features. "How the hell did you end up with this?"

Houston didn't even blink at her shock. "You really have no clue? They got mixed in with my stuff. I was in a rush last night, didn't notice a damn thing."

Simone couldn't shake the thought—maybe he had some creepy little quirk.

With a flat "Oh," she turned on her heel and hurried back inside.

Once she'd slipped into her clothes, a wave of security settled over her again. It hit her then—when Houston said he left in a rush last night, he meant right after they were together. He hadn't even waited for morning. What a coldhearted player.

She could almost picture how utterly insignificant she must look in his eyes.

Still, it wasn't like she cared much. She'd never pretended to be some righteous saint.

Back in the seating area, Phoenix Robinson was on his phone. From the one-sided conversation, it was obvious Noor Miller was checking in on him.

Phoenix wrapped it up with, "I'll hit you back when I'm done here, okay? Be good."

Drew, one of their crew, jabbed a finger at him with a teasing grin. "You're acting hella suspicious. Something's up with you, man."

Phoenix flashed his call log at Drew, all playful innocence. "It's my mom!"

Noor was his "mom," barely ten years older than him—and the same woman Simone had caught him sharing a bed with just days ago. Her little "mom" title gave her the power to check up on him, way more authority than Simone ever had.

Nobody would ever question the affectionate nicknames between "mother" and son, right?

At first, Simone had actually bought that Phoenix and Noor were the real deal—mother and son. She'd been terrified of even hinting at a scandal. For two whole days, she kept her mouth shut, too scared to confront Phoenix, until she finally broke down and confessed everything to Haisley Gutierrez. Haisley was the one who dug up the truth: Phoenix's so-called "mom" wasn't his biological mother.

Phoenix's real mother died shortly after he was born. With his father long gone, he'd been bounced around foster homes until he finally snapped. At twelve or thirteen, he ran away to the city, and that's where Noor, ten years older, took him in. From then on, they'd lived together as "mother" and son.

Simone had been with Phoenix since college. She knew he'd been raised by a single parent, but she barely knew a thing about his family. She'd always assumed his mom would share his last name, so she never questioned a thing.

Last year, when they started talking marriage, she finally learned that Phoenix's "mom" was named Noor. It didn't strike her as off at first—not until Haisley called it out. That's when it clicked: something wasn't right. She confronted Phoenix, only to hear him toss out that Houston wasn't even his real uncle, either.

Phoenix deflected everything after that, so Simone dropped it, figuring it was some messy family stuff she had no business in.

Then, by accident, she stumbled onto photos on his tablet—pictures of him and Noor that were way more than cozy. They weren't just lying in bed together; they were kissing. And the photos spanned their entire relationship.

There was no way in hell she could believe that was normal for a "mother-son" thing. She went looking for Phoenix, desperate for answers, only to walk in on him tangled up with Noor with her own eyes.

She slipped away without a sound, pretending nothing had happened. But inside, she was wrecked—not from the betrayal, but from realizing just how blind she'd been.

After two days of feeling like absolute crap, she finally texted Phoenix: "I never imagined your relationship with your mom was so... close!" Then she hopped on the first flight to Dublin.

Simone wasn't some damn martyr. She wasn't about to let seven years of her life just evaporate. Revenge—sleeping with Houston—that was the plan she and Haisley cooked up.

And so, last night happened.

Simone slid back into the seat beside Phoenix like nothing was wrong. He draped an arm around her shoulders, all warm smiles. "Why would I need anything else when I've got you right here, Simone?"

"Ain't that right, darling?" He leaned in to brush a kiss on her cheek, but Simone dodged it with a playful tease.

Their friends jumped right on the opening, someone hollering, "Aw, little Simone's getting shy."

"For real, if Simone wasn't always so buttoned up, I'd have sworn it was her in Houston's room last night. Sounded exactly like her," another laughed.