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.

Simone Brooks froze for a heartbeat. It was crazy that someone had recognized her voice so clearly from last night.

She glanced over at Houston Martinez, seated at the head of the table like he hadn’t heard a word. He just kept eating, casually taking a bite of roast like nothing had happened.

Phoenix Robinson paused a beat before chiming in, turning to Simone with a teasing grin. “Honey, that couldn’t have been you, right?”

Simone shot him a glare, lowering her voice. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

Phoenix just laughed, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Just kidding. Lighten up, darling.”

Once upon a time, Simone might have melted at his touch, but now it just made her skin crawl.

“Phoenix.” Houston’s deep voice sliced through the chatter. He tossed a set of keys at Phoenix, his tone low. “Coffee’s out. Grab a couple more from my car. B2 level.”

“Sure, Uncle.” Phoenix stood, grabbing Simone’s hand. “Come with me, babe.”

Houston cut in, sharp. “It’s cold in the garage. Go by yourself.”

“Alright.” Phoenix released her, ruffling her hair again. “Wait here for me, yeah?”

As Phoenix left, Simone’s gaze landed on Houston, curiosity and confusion tangling inside her. She knew he’d purposely sent Phoenix away, but his motive was a mystery.

Houston pointedly ignored her stare, focusing on his friends and the whiskey. After three rounds, he rose. “I’ve got other things to handle. Enjoy.”

He grabbed his coat, draping it over his arm, and as he passed Simone, he gave her shoulder a tap. “You. With me.”

Relief washed over Simone. She nodded politely to the others and quickly fell into step behind him.

She figured Houston was saving her from an awkward solo sit and would take her to Phoenix. Instead, he steered her straight to B3.

“Um, aren’t we going the wrong way? Phoenix is on B2,” she ventured.

Houston stopped beside a black SUV tucked into a dim corner. He opened the back door and nudged her in.

“What are you—” Before she could protest, his mouth captured hers, his body pinning her in place, leaving no room to move. “What do you think?” he breathed against her lips.

Simone was stunned. She was undeniably drawn to Houston, but the idea of this—so brazen, with Phoenix so close—was terrifying. What if Phoenix came looking?

“Please, Uncle, don’t…” she whimpered between scattered kisses, desire warring with common sense. “Let me go. Phoenix could find us!”

The sensory overload, nerves, and fear had her strung tight, yet eager.

Houston’s hand found her throat, a light grip. “Call me ‘Uncle’ again and you’ll see what happens.”

Simone didn’t dare. She clamped her lips together, bracing herself.

Houston’s voice dropped, softer. “Relax. He won’t find us here.”

Only then did Simone’s jaw unclench, her tense whimpers melting into softer, muffled sounds.

Midway through the heated encounter, Simone’s phone shrilled. She stiffened. Houston’s frown was a dark shadow. “Answer it.”

After a beat of hesitation, Simone answered. Phoenix didn’t ask where she was. Instead, he apologized: a client had heard he was in Dublin and wanted to meet urgently. He’d make it up to her, he promised, and said she should head back to the hotel on her own.

Houston chose that moment to apply intentional pressure. Simone bit down on her lip, struggling to sound normal. “Okay.”

“Good girl. I’ll make it up to you tonight!”

She could only manage a soft, “Mm.”

Ending the call was a release. She was finally free to let go entirely.