Chapter 8

The air on the rooftop was thick, heavy with the scent of expensive perfume, salt from the distant ocean, and the electric charge that had been building between us all evening. The city of Miami sprawled out beneath us like a scattered jewel box, lights twinkling in the humid dark, but I barely saw them. My focus had narrowed down to the man standing beside me, his silhouette sharp against the glow of the skyline. We had spent the last three hours in that private cabana, surrounded by the murmur of the elite and the clinking of champagne flutes, yet we had existed in our own silent, suffocating bubble. I watched him from the corner of my eye as he took a sip of his scotch, the ice clinking softly against the crystal. He looked like a king in his element, relaxed yet commanding, his eyes dark and predatory even when they were half-lidded in pleasure. He caught me staring. He always caught me staring. A slow, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, a gesture that felt less like a greeting and more like a claim. He didn't speak; he didn't have to. The look he sent