Chapter 01

Anna's POV

"I trusted you, Zack." My voice came out steady, surprising me, as I faced my ex-boyfriend in the apartment hallway. For three months, I'd been gathering evidence, piecing together his lies, and now it was time.

"Anna, please," he edged closer, his tone dripping with that familiar manipulative softness, "whatever you think I've done—"

"Think?" I yanked out my phone, shoving screenshots in his face. "Tailing Sarah to her yoga class? 'Bumping into' Jennifer at her go-to coffee shop? Cruising by my place at midnight?"

His face shifted, the gentle mask slipping, a shadow creeping in. "You've been digging into me?"

"No, Zack. I've been shielding myself." I thrust a folder into his hands. "And others."

He flipped it open, color draining from his cheeks. "You've got no right to snoop through my private—"

"Private?" I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Like the 'private' way you stalk half a dozen women? That's not love, Zack. It's stalking. It's control. And it's done."

I stepped back, carving space between us. "Jennifer's already called the cops. Sarah's lawyer's on your tail. Come near me again, and I'm straight to the police."

His expression darkened, jaw tight. "You wouldn't dare."

"Test me. SFPD's got copies of it all."

I turned and walked off, steps solid, though my hands shook like hell. Rounding the corner, I dialed Faith.

"My God, Anna," Faith sighed after I spilled everything, "you finally cut him loose. That must've been rough."

"Honestly? I'm… relieved," I said, sucking in a deep breath. "Like I dropped a ton of bricks."

"Then we're damn well celebrating," Faith declared, her tone ironclad. "You need to unwind, feel alive again. No dodging this."

At the swanky bar Faith picked, I sipped my martini slow, the ice clinking soft against the glass. The clamor around me oddly settled my nerves. Fresh out of Zack's grip, I'd braced for a crash, but right now, I just wanted the booze to wash away the last dregs of unease clinging to my skull.

A drunk stumbled over, his cheap cologne hitting me like a punch, shirt crumpled, tie slung sideways. I'd seen his type too often—midlife bar hounds on the prowl, thinking a suit hid their grime.

"Hey, hot stuff, solo?" He grinned, his sour breath rolling over me.

I frowned, voice flat and cold. "Sorry, not interested."

"C'mon, one drink with me," he pushed, his hand reaching for my shoulder.

I was about to shove him off when a figure stepped into the bar. He cut through the chaos like a knife, and my eyes latched onto him without a say. His dark suit hugged a perfect frame—broad shoulders narrowing to a lean waist. Every move screamed natural command, not some polished act, but a born vibe.

He parked at the bar, zeroed in on his phone. His profile was chiseled—sharp jaw, deep blue eyes. I got caught on his focus—the slight crease in his brow, those strong hands sliding over the screen.

"Hey, I'm talking here," the drunk barked, snapping me back, my frown digging deeper.

Then a low, firm voice sliced in. "Sir, I think the lady's made herself clear."

The suit guy was beside me now, his tall frame throwing off heat and authority, smooth but unyielding. The drunk shrank under his stare, muttering something before scrambling off.

"Need a hand?" He turned to me, voice easing up.

Up close, he was a knockout. Flawless features, a faint whiff of high-end cologne, and those blue eyes that felt like they could peel you open.

"Thanks, but I've got it," I said, keeping my tone level.

He nodded, a ghost of a smile tugging his lips. It sent my pulse up a notch—not the slick charm I knew too well, but something real, almost cheeky.

My phone buzzed. Faith's text sank my gut: "Emergency! Grandpa's in the hospital—maybe a heart attack. Gotta go. Call later. Sorry!"

I watched her bolt, worry for her grandpa mixing with a pang of losing my wingwoman. When I glanced up, those blue eyes were on me, curiosity glinting.

"Solo now?" He waved the bartender over. From him, the words landed soft, a universe away from the drunk's sloppy grab.

"For now," I said, meeting his gaze, tamping down the flutter inside.

A thin tension hummed in the air. His eyes roamed me slow, bold appreciation in them. I couldn't help scoping him too—the muscle hinted under his shirt, long fingers wrapping his glass, the sexy shift of his throat when he spoke. I'd just ditched one guy—why was another pulling me in? Maybe the lights and liquor were messing with me.

"So…" I swirled my glass, voice dipping low, "you hit this place a lot?"

He arched a brow, a grin tugging his mouth. "Not often. Tonight's a fluke."

"I'm Adrian."

"Anna." I studied him close. "You're not quite what you look like, you know."

I propped my chin on my hand, dark hair spilling back, red lips parting just a touch, locking eyes with him.

After a few seconds of quiet, Adrian chuckled soft. "What do I look like, then?"

"Not the type to swoop in for a stranger," I mused, tracing my glass's rim.

"Maybe," he leaned closer, voice dropping intimate, "you're not that strange."

Sparks crackled between us. Ice rattled sharp in the bartender's shaker.

Under my stare, Adrian's cool slipped a hair. I could feel the tug in him—half-thrilled, half-wary of where tonight might go.

Our cocktails landed, mint sprigs perched on top. I sipped slow—sweet hitting first, then bitter, leaving me wanting more.

For a moment, we sank into a thick silence. Sharing a drink turned heavy, loaded with what we weren't saying.

When Adrian spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. "This what I think it is?"

"Could be." My answer was short, brimming with meaning.

My eyes slid over the shape under his loose jacket, solid lines showing through. I lingered a beat, not hiding my take.

Swirling my glass, I leaned in, teasing low. "So, Adrian, you're not the type to forget your wallet, right?"

He raised a brow, smirking. "What, scared I can't cover the tab?"

I laughed light. "Not the tab. Just checking if you're set… for what's next."

He pulled his ID, the photo rougher than him—white tee, buzz cut, edges sharper, skin darker. No kid stuff, just raw, wild energy.

I cocked a brow. "How old?"

"32."

"Not that." My gaze flicked to his lap.

Adrian glanced down, then grinned, wicked. "16. Good enough?"

I handed his phone back. "Plenty."

"You?" he fired back.

I answered cool, "34D. Think you can keep up?"

The half-meter between us stretched like a chasm. My tease lit a fuse—he squinted, eyes going dark like a night wolf's.

"Wanna find out?"

He was goddamn irresistible.

Half my cocktail down, I slid closer, arm draping his shoulder. My lips grazed his ear, whispering, "First time?"