After a one-night stand, I mistook a man with a body chiseled from stone for a high-end escort. I left five thousand dollars as a tip, along with my business card identifying me as a “Jewelry Designer.”

I thought it was just a consensual transaction between two adults.

That was until my staunchly conservative, overprotective brother, Julian, saw the bite mark on my collarbone and erupted.

“Find the bastard who laid a hand on my sister, and I'll make him disappear from New York!”

After comparing surveillance footage, a private investigator identified the man as the Don of the Cain family, the most feared on the East Coast—Ronan Cain.

Only then did it all click into place.

My one-night stand had been with a Mafia Don.

And I’d tipped him five thousand dollars.

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1

My whole body ached, every bone feeling as if it had been disassembled and pieced back together.

I forced my eyes open and turned to see an unfamiliar face, breathtakingly handsome even in sleep.

Fragments of last night flooded my mind. The hotel. The whiskey. And that fatal scent of sandalwood and leather.

“Are you okay?”

His low, hoarse rasps from last night seemed to echo in my ears.

I had cried, begged for mercy, and even tried to escape, but he had pulled me back time and again, his arm around my waist so powerful it felt like he could have snapped my spine.

The heady scent of our tangled bodies was more intoxicating than any of the expensive perfumes in my collection.

Then, gazing at his serene profile, I found myself wanting to do it all over again.

My phone buzzed from within the pile of clothes scattered on the floor. The screen lit up: Julian.

Oh, crap.

A string of frantic calls from my conservative brother. My first night ever not coming home, and I was already busted. If he found out I’d not only slept with a man but gotten a hotel room with him, he’d break my legs before shipping me off to a Swiss boarding school to rot.

I had to disappear. Now.

Ignoring the ache in my waist and legs, I scrambled to my feet and slipped into my dress.

I glanced down and saw my chest and collarbone covered in a constellation of dark marks; especially on my collarbone, there was a deep red bite mark, like he’d branded me with his own personal seal.

I stared at the sleeping man.

Was I just going to leave? I hesitated.

He might have been a bit rough last night, but his quality of service was absolutely top-notch.

We Prescotts never take advantage of anyone.

I emptied my handbag. Five thousand dollars in cash.

Not enough.

I bit my lip and unpinned the sapphire brooch I had designed myself.

It was worth thirty thousand dollars. That ought to make us even.

I placed the cash and the brooch neatly on the bedside table, then grabbed my business card.

Last night was amazing. Why not make this a regular thing?

Julian traveled for work often, and I deserved a little personal enjoyment.

I hastily scribbled a line on the back of the card:

[You were amazing. Here's your tip. Saturday, same hotel. Be clean and wait for me.]

Transaction complete. Clean and simple.

So long, handsome, I thought.

I grabbed my heels and, barefoot, slipped out the door like a cat that had just gotten the cream.

Half an hour later, morning light pierced through the curtains.

Ronan's eyes snapped open.

For the first time in a decade, ever since the drug first made him lose control, he had never felt so refreshed, so satisfied.

The mania that had tormented him was gone, replaced by a deep, almost addictive calm.

He had finally found her.

The only woman who had ever made him lose control.

“Baby!” His voice was hoarse and sleepy as he reached out to pull her closer.

His hand grasped only cold air.

The bed was empty.

Ronan shot upright.

She was gone. That soft, sweet girl had just… run?

His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing in their dark depths.

She was playing with fire.

His gaze fell on the nightstand. A stack of bills, a sapphire brooch, and a business card.

Ronan's face turned to ice.

He picked up the cash, clutched the brooch tightly, and read the bold, scrawled words.

[You were amazing. Here's your tip. Saturday, same hotel. Be clean and wait for me.]

The words were a slap in the face.

Bang!

The water glass on the nightstand shattered, unable to withstand the Don's sudden explosion of rage.

Ronan glared at the business card, his knuckles cracking from the force of his grip.

He thought this was the beginning of a wild romance with his fated woman.

To her, he was just a transaction? Worth a measly five thousand dollars?

“Very well,” he muttered, activating the invisible earpiece in his ear.

His Consigliere, Finn's, frantic voice burst from the earpiece. “Don! Where are you? You went dark last night. The families thought you’d been hit!”

“Shut up,” Ronan cut him off coldly.

He stared at the crumpled business card in his hand, his voice laced with a predator's chill.

“Find her. Even if you have to turn New York City upside down, bring her to me.”

“She'll learn her lesson. No one dismisses the Don of the Cain family with a few thousand dollars and walks away.”

Finn's voice trembled as he replied, the shock rattling him to his core.

“Dismissed? With what?”

I tiptoed in through the side door of the Prescott family mansion, heels in hand.

If I could just make it back to my room, I'd be safe.

Just as I reached the foot of the stairs…

“Stop.”

Julian's icy voice shattered the silence of the living room.

I froze in place.

Busted.

I turned, pasting on an innocent smile. “Good morning, Julian. I just spent the night at a friend's house.”

“I wish I could believe that.” He slammed his glass on the table, the crack echoing my own splintering nerves, and then strode toward me.

Before I could even step back, he had me by the wrist.

His razor-sharp gaze swept over me, finally landing on the bite mark on my collarbone.

Julian's eyes narrowed to a slit.

“What is this?” he demanded, his voice dangerously tight. “Cordelia! Who did this to you?!”

His roar nearly blew the roof off.

My mind went blank.

What could I say? Tell him I hired an escort for five grand? Admit I’d had the time of my life?

Impossible. Julian would have the man killed, and our family's reputation would be ruined because of me.

I had to play dumb.

“I don't remember.”

I lowered my head and squeezed out a few tears. “I drank too much. My head was spinning, and I woke up in a hotel.”

I hoped I could bluff my way through.

But I'd severely underestimated Julian's talent for jumping to the worst possible conclusion.

“Drank too much? Don't remember?” His face darkened like a storm. “You mean, you were drugged!”

He spun around and kicked an antique chair, sending it flying. “How dare someone drug a Prescott! The audacity of that bastard!”

He pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial for his head of security. “Lock down the block. Check every hotel's surveillance footage. Find the bastard who did this. Tear this city apart if you have to, but find him!”

I was stunned.

“Julian! There's no need to make such a big deal out of this!” I lunged for the phone. “Listen, it's not that serious. I was willing!”

“Shut up!” Julian pulled me into his arms, his eyes welling with tears. “Cordelia, don’t be afraid. I know you’re traumatized and scared to admit what happened.”

“But I will never let you suffer any shame!”

I tried to protest, but he wouldn't listen.

“Get the car ready! We're going to the gala! I will make that bastard pay a terrible price!”

The Rolls-Royce sped toward the charity gala.

Julian was on his phone, frantically calling in favors and mobilizing his network.

I huddled in the back seat, my heart racing.

Things were escalating fast. All I'd wanted was a secret fling, and now it was a city-wide manhunt.

My hand trembled as I took out my phone.

A financial news alert popped up.

The headline read: [Mysterious Cain Family Don, Ronan Cain, Makes a Rare Appearance]

I clicked on the photo. It was a candid shot of a man in a black coat, his sharp profile radiating a cold, unapproachable aura that seemed to cut right through the screen.

Ronan.

My world tilted on its axis.

The man from last night, the one I had called “baby,” the one I thought was just a one-night stand…

Was a Mafia Don?

The legendary Ronan Cain, who had ruthlessly seized power at a young age and was known for his cold-blooded methods?

I wasn’t just in trouble. I was in monumental, world-ending trouble.

Not only had I slept with a kingpin of the underworld, but I had also insulted him with a paltry tip!

Worst of all, my brother was now hunting him down for allegedly raping me.

I was practically digging my own grave.

“We're here.” The car stopped in front of the gala hotel.

Julian threw the door open, his face a mask of righteous, big-brotherly fury, and my heart plummeted.

Countless reporters swarmed us like sharks smelling blood.

The doors to the grand ballroom were violently thrown open, and Ronan strode in with his men.

His gaze swept across the hall, finally locking onto me, cowering in a corner.

He walked up to me and slammed the cash and the crumpled business card on the table, the sound echoing through the room.

He leaned in close, his impossibly perfect face just inches from mine, his warm breath fanning across my skin.

“Five thousand dollars?”

His laughter was ice-cold, his dark eyes glinting with a deadly amusement.

“Is that all you think I'm worth?”

The hall fell deathly silent.

The only sound was the frantic clicking of camera shutters.

The flashes froze the moment: the fearsome Mafia Don, his impossibly handsome face inches from mine, questioning why I had only paid a paltry five thousand dollars.

I glanced at the stunned faces of New York's high society around me.

This was being broadcast live to the entire upper crust.

A wave of doom washed over me. This was it. I was finished.

“Speak,” Ronan commanded, his thumb and forefinger gripping my chin tightly. The calloused skin of his fingers brushed against my jaw, sending a shiver down my spine.

He couldn't care less about the eyes on us.

To him, it was just me and that ridiculous sum of money.

“You weren't this quiet in bed last night, begging me to go faster.”

His voice was a low murmur, meant only for me. “So you enjoy skipping out on the bill, Miss Prescott?”

Heat flooded my cheeks.

It had to be the potent mix of sandalwood and whiskey still clinging to him that was doing this to me.

“Let her go!” Julian's voice rang out as he slapped Ronan's hand away, shielding me with his body like a human bulwark. “Don't listen to a word this bastard says!”

He glared into the cameras, his voice trembling but firm. “This is slander! A shameless insult! My sister has had the finest upbringing of a socialite since she was a child. She's never even held a man's hand!”

I hid behind him, guilt threatening to drown me.

Julian, please stop. You're only making things worse.

Julian pointed at the cash on the table and sneered. “You say she paid for you? What a joke!”

“She is the princess of the Prescott family, and you are nothing but filth from the underworld. Why would she ever deign to look at you?”

“This money, this business card—it's all a fabrication! You're making up filthy lies to tarnish my sister's reputation and clear your own name!”

The murmurs from the crowd grew into a buzz.

“Oh my god, Mr. Julian is right! How could someone like Miss Cordelia even look at a mafioso?”

“This Ronan is shameless. It's one thing to commit assault, but spreading dirty rumors is another!”

“Still, look at Don Cain's physique, those legs… I might be willing to pay five thousand too.”

The tide of public opinion was turning in favor of the “victim.”

Ronan offered no defense.

He simply straightened his cufflinks, a mocking glint in his eyes as he looked at me.

His gaze pierced deep into my soul, like a hunter watching his cornered prey.

“Innocent?” he scoffed, taking a step closer.

His presence was so powerful that everyone around him instinctively took a step back.

“If you're all so sure she's a victim,” he said, gesturing to the bite mark on my collarbone, his voice deceptively casual,

“Perhaps you can be the judges.”

“There's a world of difference between a mark of force and a mark of passion.”

“The scratches she left on my back last night haven't even begun to heal.”

The hall erupted into chaos!

Reporters swarmed forward, shoving microphones up to our faces.

“Mr. Cain! Are you suggesting this was consensual?”

“Miss Cordelia! How do you respond?”

Julian was trembling with rage. He looked at me, his eyes a mixture of pain and hope. “Cordelia! Tell them! Did he force you?!”

I opened my mouth.

If I told the truth, Julian would have a conniption, our family’s stock would plummet, and I’d become the laughingstock of New York.

If I lied?

My eyes met Ronan's.

A storm raged in his dark gaze, a silent threat: if I lied, he would spill everything.

I was trapped, with no way out.

In the end, I chose the most cowardly, despicable response.

I lowered my head, bit my lip hard, and said nothing.

My silence was a tacit admission, and we both knew it.