“Mm—”

That night was a blur of heat and chaos.

Claire Johnson was pinned down on the couch by Evan Presley. His lips grazed her earlobe, while one hand ignited sparks all over her delicate frame.

Her soft moans seemed to stir something in him. He kissed her hard, desperate, as if trying to erase every trace of sanity between them.

The faint smell of alcohol on his breath mixed with the slow burn inside her, and she was starting to lose grip on reality. Her mind went blank, and she gave in completely, almost in self-loathing.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly pleased. His voice low and rough, “Claire, do you love me?”

Her body flinched, and her face paled for a second. Barely thinking, she murmured, “Love…”

“What is it you love about me, huh?” His eyes burned with something darker than desire. His grip on her waist tightened, drawing her closer.

Half a year ago, when Alexander Thompson’s company was on the verge of collapsing, Claire had no choice but to turn to Evan, his half-brother. She made herself his mistress through an agreement. Whenever he wanted her, she had to be there—no boundaries, no questions.

Tonight marked the last day of that deal. She could finally leave this hellish man. Just once more, then they’d be strangers from here on out.

Evan seemed to notice her drifting off and ruthlessly reasserted himself. Claire clutched at his shoulders, trembling. “Your… money,” she breathed out.

“Smart answer,” he said in that raspy, mocking tone. Then, without warning, he yanked her against him, and took her again, hard, like a storm trying to tear through her soul.

He wasn’t upset that she was walking away. What really pissed him off was how addicted he’d become to her. It was like she had a hold on him he couldn’t break—he hated it, yet couldn’t stop.

They didn’t stop until the sky started to slip into dawn. The room was thick with lust and chaos, and Claire felt like she could barely breathe. She slipped on the same outfit she’d worn when she first begged him for help—now faded with time.

Evan’s gaze turned icy. He recognized that outfit—it was a gift from Alexander. She’d kept it pristine all this time.

“You’re that eager to leave me?” Evan leaned back against the headboard, lighting up a cigarette out of habit. His voice was hoarse, flat.

Claire stole a glance at him. He took a slow drag, then blew a smoke ring into the air. It curled around him, making his whole figure look like something out of a dream.

Her heart squeezed strangely. For a second, everything—these past six months—felt horribly surreal. She nodded, silent.

She didn’t want to linger. Without another word, Claire turned and walked away.Evan Presley stubbed out his cigarette and stared at Claire Johnson’s back. His voice was low, tinged with mockery. "Six months, Claire. You really think you can just go back?"

Claire froze. A wave of hurt hit her chest hard. Her breath caught. This man—he was probably the one person in this world she could never figure out, never predict, and always feared just a little.

She took a second, then pressed her lips together and said, "Whether I can go back or not is my own business. As of today, you and I are done. And I hope you remember the promise you made."

Before he could say a word, she opened the door and left without looking back.

Evan stared at the door she’d slammed shut. The cigarette butt was crushed completely before he tossed it into the trash. His long fingers tapped rhythmically on the watch face. He glanced down at the time, the corners of his mouth curling slightly.

That promise in bed? Only Claire would be naive enough to believe that. He was sure of one thing—she’d be back.

He was curious now. How exactly was she planning to be "completely done" with him?

…

After leaving the hotel, Claire hopped in a cab headed straight for Alexander Thompson’s villa.

She rolled the window down, letting the cool night wind mess up her hair. Maybe the breeze could lighten the mess she felt inside.

Squinting at the city lights, she took in deep breaths, but none of it made her feel any better. Even after all that bold talk in front of Evan, deep down she knew—she didn’t have the right to stand next to the person she loved the most anymore.

Her best friend had told her Alexander never stopped looking for her. But she felt dirty now. Unworthy. The least she could do now was say a proper goodbye and get out of his life.

Just the thought of saying “breakup” made her chest ache, but she forced herself to face it. Things had gone too far—she couldn't keep putting it off.

Once she got out of the car, Claire walked up to the villa, her fingers laced tightly in front of her, betraying her nerves. She didn’t even know how to begin.

Should she smile and say, “Long time no see”? Or just bite the bullet and tell him, without sugarcoating it, “I don’t love you anymore”?

How would he react? Would he accept it? Refuse? Get angry?

Her thoughts were a whole mess. Just picturing that breakup scene made her feel like she was suffocating. Tears rolled down her cheeks without warning. She wanted to cry—loud, gut-wrenching sobs.

Wiping her face, she forced herself forward, ready to deliver the line she thought would hurt him the least.

But right when she got to the door, a sound froze her in place.

A woman’s moans came from inside. It hit her like a bolt from the blue.

"Ah… Alexander, that feels so good…"